1957
by peacensafety
Summary: Castiel and his mother move to Louisiana for his mother's new job: a great opportunity for Mrs. Novak to be a lady's companion. The only problem is: The Winchesters are weird and even weirder things happen around them. M for a multitude of reasons.
1. Chapter 1

The mansion was old, yellow and pale stone with a huge wrap-around porch on its faux-Victorian façade set on a huge parcel of land draped in kudzu and Spanish moss. When Castiel and his mother walked up the driveway, hand in hand, he felt a little nervous about the people on the inside although he was trying to be brave for her sake. They gripped their suitcases and started walking up the gravel driveway, and it felt like they had been walking forever from the bus stop.

Castiel loved his mother dearly. She had done so much for him. He loved hearing the story of how she had been a maid to a very rich family when she first came over from Russia, but that one day she had opened her door to find him in a basket on her doorstep. She had chosen to take him in and treat him as her own, despite the fact that she lost her job for it. At least she got a reference, and she had taken Castiel around with her from house to house, wherever they let her bring her son.

And Castiel didn't care how they had become a family. He would die for Mrs. Novak, and she for him. She did everything she could to keep him in clothing and food, despite the fact that they were in America and she had just gotten her citizenship and her English wasn't that good. She worked hard jobs as a maid and even a construction worker once for a couple of months, and she made sure that Castiel attended the best schools that she could afford. They were often public schools, but she would yank him out of one and put him in another if she heard that they had a better program or more opportunities.

But this job was different than all the other ones. For one, the man who owned this house was almost never going to be home. That had been in the job description, and it was one thing that made the job so attractive to Castiel and his mother. They had plenty of problems, because she was beautiful and kind and rich men craved to own that. This family wasn't hiring her for those reasons, though.

The Winchester Family had met his mother at a State Dinner, while his mother was working for Senator Crowley. Mrs. Winchester, _call me Mary, dear_, had spilled red wine on her white dress, and Castiel's mother had helped her in the bathroom with soda water and a little mixture that Castiel had invented for just those purposes. The women got to talking, and Mrs. Novak tried to imitate the Southern accent that Mrs. Winchester had but it caused Castiel to laugh when she was telling the story, and Mrs. Winchester had mentioned that it would be nice to have a maid like Mrs. Novak. It got so lonely, with Mr. Winchester always away working for the newly formed CIA, and her boys were almost grown up and she knew she would be alone soon.

Senator Crowley had called Mrs. Novak to his office after the two women had met. Would she like to work for Mrs. Winchester? Her husband was really helping his country out, sorting out problems that World War II had caused, and it was such a sad thing for her to be alone with two half-grown boys in that house in Louisiana all by herself. Mrs. Novak would be ideal to go live with her as a companion, and Castiel and the Winchester boys would have a good time of it, he was sure.

The South had a little different climate than Castiel was used to. He could feel sweat making his one good white shirt cling to his body, and he wanted to rip it off and walk around in his undershirt. He desperately wanted to take off the suit jacket that his mother had so carefully pressed before they got on the train, and he knew that it was probably a lost cause after the bus ride.

He had been shocked to see so many black people when they arrived in New Orleans. Sure, there were some here and there in Boston, where they used to live, but he hadn't been prepared to see them everywhere in the South. He had heard that there were race problems down South, and some of his classmates who had heard about his mother's plan to move them to Louisiana had made some rude comments about him being surrounded by the Africans, who were all violent and uneducated.

He had seen a lot of stores in New Orleans with black shopkeepers, and even a few blacks walking around in suits and other business attire. He didn't think that was a sign of poor education, but he wanted to see what that was about before he made a final judgement. So he was more than surprised when, after his mother had knocked on the door, a large black man opened it to admit them into the house.

"I'm Mrs. Novak," his mother introduced herself, "and this is my son, Castiel."

"Castiel?" the man said with a smile on his lips. "I'm Uriel."

"Sir," Castiel said, nodding his head a little. When in doubt, his mother always told him, respect and manners will get you through anything.

Uriel laughed at him. "Good to see a fellow angel," Uriel said, making what Castiel was sure was a reference to their names.

"Yes sir," Castiel said, and then he lowered his eyes to the floor. It was unfortunate that he was shy.

"Mrs. Winchester is expecting you. If you will just take a seat in the parlour, and I'll see that you're brought some refreshments."

"Thank you," Mrs. Novak said, and Castiel wanted to dance with happiness as he got to sit his suitcases down on the carpeted floors.

There were windows on three sides of the parlour, all opened to encourage the almost non-existent breeze. Castiel stared with wonder at the screens on the windows. Only the very rich could have screens that were that tightly woven, to keep the bugs out.

The parlour was decorated in knick knacks from all over the world. There was a silk tapestry in a nice frame in one corner, and two fireplaces made out of marble along one side of the wall. Hanging all around the room were strange crosses and symbols that Castiel didn't recognize, although many of them seemed familiar to him for some reason. The room felt incredibly safe, and Castiel couldn't figure out why.

The room also had a curtain drawn back over one end of it with a piano on the other end, and Mrs. Novak said that if there was a party they would hire musicians to come in and play behind it while everyone else mingled in the parlour. Castiel didn't know why they would have to hide the musicians, but then Mrs. Novak told him that they were probably coloured, and it would be offensive to some of the guests if they were seen.

Castiel didn't really like that idea; it sat in his stomach wrong. He didn't say anything though, because this job was important to his mother.

Mrs. Winchester came into the room, and Castiel could instantly see why his mother had liked her. She was just as pretty as Mrs. Novak, they had the same long blond hair and bright green eyes, and she had the same air of kindness about her. She had been wearing gardening gloves and a broad rimed hat, but he could tell that she had been hot outside because her cheeks were flushed.

"I'm so sorry to keep y'all waiting," Mrs. Winchester said. "I got lost in the roses, and I plumb forgot the time. I should have sent Dean around with the car to pick you up; I get so lost in my dreams though. Please forgive me for bein' so ungracious," she sounded like she really felt bad.

"It's all right, Mrs. Winchester," Mrs. Novak said. "It didn't hurt my son or I to walk."

"It could have though," Mrs. Winchester said. "This sun is terrible for people who aren't used to it. Would you like some water or sweet tea?"

"Water would be lovely," Mrs. Novak said, and as soon as the words left her mouth Uriel came in with a tray.

"Uriel, thank you," Mrs. Winchester said. "Please, sit with us so that I can introduce you. Mrs. Novak, this is Uriel Freeman. He helps us out when John is away doing his government work. John and Uriel fought in the war together."

"Mary took my boy in while I was fighting," Uriel told them. "She treats us like family." Mrs. Winchester gave him a look at that comment. Castiel couldn't interpret it at all.

"That was very kind," Mrs. Novak said, and Castiel could tell she wasn't sure how to react.

"Raphael is such a bright boy, he and my son Sam are thick as thieves," Mary said. "Sometimes, I do worry about them a little," she admitted.

"As long as they stay out of the bars, we can breathe easily," Uriel said.

"I might as well say this bluntly," Mary said, and she looked like she was mentally toughening herself up to confess a great secret. "I don't hold with treating the coloureds any differently than my white staff. And you will hear rumors, and it is true that Uriel is my cousin. This is why most of society will not accept me into their homes, because I am not going to cater to their nonsense about treating Uriel differently. He will eat at the same table as me, and he will be treated with the same respect as me. I know that Senator Crowley mentioned to you that I was queer on this matter."

"You treated me with respect, Mrs. Winchester, even though I was nothing but a maid," Mrs. Novak responded. "I will treat your family the same."

Mary nodded her head. "I had hoped that I made a good decision with you, Helen. Thank you."

Castiel looked at Uriel a little differently. He had such dark skin, but he knew that there was no way that Mrs. Winchester was part black, so he must be part white. He wondered how that worked out.

"Now, the boys should be coming in soon. Dean and Raphael are going to be attending the new University of Lousisana at New Orleans. It will be the first racially integrated university in the South," Mrs. Winchester said, proudly. "And Sam was tagging along because he hates the thought of his brother getting to do something before him."

"I do not," a very tall boy said, walking into the room by himself. He was wearing blue jeans and a white button up shirt, soaked with sweat and revealing a white cotton shirt with no sleeves underneath it. Castiel was jealous of his undershirt. "I just tag along to make sure that they don't get thrown in jail, mama," Sam said, kissing his mother's forehead before sitting down and pouring himself a glass of sweet tea.

Sam had long brown hair that fell into eyes the exact same color as his mother's. His skin was pale and clear, but Uriel frowned at him when he moved to put his feet on the coffee table. "You know better manners than that, boy."

"Yes cousin Uriel," Sam said, putting his feet down immediately.

"This is my son, Sam. Unfortunately, he is my polite boy," Mrs. Winchester sighed as if she had fought a lot to teach her boys some respect. "Where are your brother and your cousin?"

"Dean and Raphael were talking to Harriet and Sue Ellen, they'll be here in a few minutes."

"Their father won't like that," Uriel said. "I told those boys to stay away from those girls."

"They don't mind that Raphael is black," Sam said. "It's just their daddy…"

"I'll speak to the boys when they get home," Mrs. Winchester said, worried. "Mr. Bowen is in the Klan, and we don't need that kind of attention."

"The Klan?" Castiel asked.

Mrs. Winchester sighed. "It's one of the ugly spots about the South," she said. "They are a group of men who don't appreciate diversity."

Sam grinned, pulling out a small sandwich on the plate that Uriel had brought in on the tray. "They're a bunch of ignorant rednecks…"

"Watch your mouth, Sam," Mrs. Winchester chided him. "Respect everyone."

"Yes ma'am," Sam said, but by the look on his face Castiel knew that Sam wasn't going to change his ways.

"So Castiel, how old are you? When your mother said that she had a son, I didn't picture you so tall."

"I'm sixteen, ma'am," Castiel said. He knew that Mrs. Winchester probably knew that his mother wasn't old enough to have a son his age, but she seemed to take the information with good grace.

"Sixteen is a lovely age," Mrs. Winchester said. "You're a year older than Sam here, and a year younger than Dean and Raphael. I'm sure you'll get along with the boys well."

"Yes, ma'am," Castiel said. He hated it when people paid attention to him, so he did his best to not squirm on the couch.

"What subject do you enjoy in school?" Mrs. Winchester asked him.

"Castiel is very good at math; he always receives top marks for it in school," Mrs. Novak said, coming to his rescue.

"Math?" Sam asked. "I figured you for a poetry guy."

Castiel wondered what that meant, but before he could say anything else two more boys entered the room. One was tall and black, and the other shorter with shining golden hair and Mrs. Winchester's bright green eyes. "Mama," the white boy said, coming in to kiss his mother's cheek before sitting down next to Sam.

The black boy sat on Sam's other side, and there was a fair amount of pushing between the two of them before they settled in. They were dressed almost exactly like Sam, and they all had the same grins on their faces.

"I don't want you talking to those girls," Mrs. Winchester said with absolutely no preparation at all.

"Tattle-tale," the white boy, who Castiel assumed was Dean, whispered to Sam.

"You knew we were supposed to get straight home," Sam shrugged as if he had done nothing wrong.

"Hi," Dean said, holding his hand out to Castiel, "I'm Dean."

"Castiel," he said, introducing himself and shaking Dean's hand, and then shaking Raphael's hand as it was held out to him.

Dean smiled when he saw that Castiel had shaken Raphael's hand with no prompting from anyone. "Good to meet you, Cas," Dean said. Castiel could see a mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he shortened his name without permission.

Castiel said nothing, but sat back down and continued to stare at the carpet.

"So, do you like math then?" Sam asked, as if they had never been interrupted by his brother and cousin.

"It's soothing," Castiel said. "There's always an answer."

"There's the poet I suspected," Sam said, laughing a little.

Castiel didn't think what he said was funny, so he looked at the younger Winchester, confusion on his face. He smiled when he saw that Raphael elbowed Sam in the gut over his reaction.

"You'll have to forgive Sammy," Dean said. "He's always been a weirdo."

"Dean," Mrs. Winchester said, "don't call your brother names."

"Yes ma'am," Dean said, winking at Castiel. Castiel felt his stomach drop down to the floor at that gesture, and he hoped that it wasn't written on his face because he didn't know what it meant.

"Now boys, why don't you take Castiel's suitcases to his room? Castiel can have the room next to yours, Dean. You'll love it," Mrs. Winchester turned to Mrs. Novak. "I just insisted that John update the house. We have four bathrooms that are indoors now."

"Don't know why you needed so many indoor bathrooms," Uriel grumbled. He picked up Mrs. Novak's suitcases like they didn't weigh a thing, and he carried them to another part of the house.

"You don't mind sharing a room next to mine, do you Mrs. Novak? I just think it will be so much more convenient for both of us, and it'll keep us away from the boys' side of the house."

"That's fine," Mrs. Novak said.

"Where is your accent from, Mrs. Novak? It's absolutely darling."

"Russia, Mrs. Winchester. I came to get away from the war."

"Mr. Winchester was in Russia for a time. He went during the summer, and he said it was a wonderful country."

Castiel only worried a little, as the women moved away from them. He knew his mother had run away, like many musicians, because of the war. He hoped that Mrs. Winchester would accept his mother's musical ability, because any time she was found out people looked at her strangely for being a woman and knowing how to play the piano and the violin the way that she did. They often called her a demon, or they said that she had sold her soul to the devil. In any case, it made his mother swear that she would never touch a musical instrument again each and every time it happened, but he would catch her looking longingly at them any time she saw them.

"You ready to cut the apron strings yet, boy?" Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel looked over at Dean, trying to figure out what he meant.

"C'mon, your mom is fine, let's go see your room," Dean said, and Raphael and Sam were already racing up the stairs with Castiel's suitcases.

Castiel looked out the door where his mother had disappeared one more time, and then followed Dean up the stairs to the room that would be his. He had the sinking sensation that he would be following Dean around a lot, and he wondered why it felt like it was a bad thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel was going to share a bathroom with Dean. It was connected to both of their rooms and was actually quite a small room, but he had never lived in a place where he hadn't had to share a bathroom with at least ten other people. Dean showed him where the towels and washcloths were, and he told him that he could use the soap he had gotten from a real Voodoo priestess who swore up and down it would increase his attractiveness with girls.

Castiel blushed at that, and Dean had given him a hard time about his face turning so red. "How many girlfriends have you had?" Dean asked him.

"Four," Castiel lied, looking Dean straight in the eyes.

Dean had died laughing again. "You lie. I bet you ain't ever had one."

Castiel blushed and looked at his feet again. He couldn't lie to a boy who laughed this much. "No, I've never had a girlfriend."

"But you like girls, right? You ain't sly?"

"What's that?" Castiel asked him, curious.

Dean shook his head. "Never mind, man. C'mon, let's go downstairs and see what Miss Anna has cookin' for us tonight. Maybe we can talk her into makin' us some pie."

Castiel followed Dean down the back staircase into a very warm room, that had all the windows up. There was a stove and a large sink and an ice box, and what looked like miles and miles of counter space and cabinets.

Miss Anna had red hair and grey eyes, and she couldn't have been much older than Dean and Castiel. "Howdy Dean," she said, and Castiel noticed that her accent was different from The Winchester Family.

"Miss Anna, what you got cookin', girl?" Dean asked, leaning over one of the pots.

"Crawfish etouffe, gumbo, red beans and rice, and some dirty potatoes. I'm just finishin' up some fresh croissants for y'all, and then I'm gonna fix beignets for your breakfasts."

"No apple pie?" Dean asked, pouting at her. Castiel made himself look at something else other than Dean's lower lip.

"Boy, you always begging for somethin'," Anna said. Castiel wondered why her vowels were more twangy than Dean's soft vowels.

"Miss Anna, this is Castiel Novak. His mama is mama's new companion," Dean said.

Miss Anna stared around Dean's shoulder to look at Castiel. "He looks a mite scrawny."

"I bet he could hold his own," Dean said, grinning back at Castiel. "If not, I could teach him how to."

"He ain't gonna be… with you boys, is he?" Miss Anna looked at Castiel with a little worried look on her face. "I don't think he could handle it."

"I'm sure we just got to break him in slow. Most Yankee boys can't hold their own with us, it'll just take some time."

Miss Anna frowned at Dean. "You shouldn't be dragging him into something you shouldn't be doing in the first place. Messin' with things that best be left alone."

"Someone's got to do it, Miss Anna. You volunteerin'?" Dean asked.

Miss Anna grumbled something too low for Castiel to hear, but he was already intrigued. He figured the best way to learn something was to be quiet and listen, because that was how he learned most things. It was how he had learned about the CIA in the first place, listening… or eavesdropping as Senator Crowley had accused him of doing.

"Anyhow," Miss Anna said, looking over at Castiel. "You know how to make etoufee, boy?"

"No ma'am, I've never even heard of etoufee," Castiel said.

"What do they teach them boys up north?" Miss Anna asked, shocked. "Come here, you gonna help me make this. See this pan? We're gonna put some butter and some onions in this pan. This is gonna be the start of our roux, you understand?"

Castiel nodded and helped her cook, while Dean leaned against one of the counter tops and begged for pie. It felt good, to be included in preparing the food, although Castiel had no idea what a Holy Trinity was in regards to cooking, and he was shaky when he was pouring on the spices.

He looked up when Sam and Raphael came into the kitchen, and Raphael stuttered and stammered around Miss Anna.

"Raphael's hopin' to marry Miss Anna," Dean whispered to Castiel. "He'd be a good match for her, especially with him going to college."

"But she's white," Castiel whispered back.

Dean laughed, and then he patted Miss Anna on the back. "Cas here thinks you're white," he laughed some more.

"You're just darlin'," Miss Anna said. "I'm a redbone cajun."

"What's that?"

"Means I'm black. That and some Spanish and some French and Native American, but no white people ever gonna' think I'm white," Miss Anna said.

"But your hair is red, and your skin is paler than mine," Castiel protested.

"Boy, it's not like I'm the only one. Mostly, they just try to keep us away from the whites, you should see my brother, he's paler than me but you can tell he's black. Most folk keep us away 'cause they're afraid we're gonna pass, but the Winchester family doesn't care about stuff like that," Miss Anna said, pushing some bowls around with a spoon, stirring whatever it was.

Castiel helped the other boys setting the table, thinking about what Miss Anna had said. It was something that he never had to deal with before, although at one of the houses his mama had worked at he remembered someone complaining about one of the servants who thought she could pass herself off as white. He thought it was weird at the time, but seeing Anna he didn't know why she wouldn't pass. It was easier to be white. Well, it was easier to be white and rich, but still, easier to be white.

He wondered what kind of life Miss Anna could lead. It wasn't like she could get married and then go out in public with Raphael, it would put them both in danger. People could get violent like that. And it wasn't like she could marry a white man who didn't know, who knew if her kids would come out looking black? Miss Anna didn't have a whole lot of choices. It must be a terrible position to be stuck in, Castiel thought, to not be allowed to simply love someone no matter their skin color.

Eating Lousisian food had to be the highlight of the day, Castiel thought at the dinner table that night. He couldn't believe the way that it popped on his tongue, how it felt in his mouth, and he wondered that he might not possibly be committing a sin of the flesh like his preacher had talked about in vague terms with how good this food was. He tried really hard not to make any sounds while he was eating, but it was hard.

Dean looked at him strangely while he was eating, and Sam and Raphael couldn't help but laugh themselves stupid over his reaction to their food. The adults weren't sitting near enough to them that they could hear it, as they were at the other end of the table, and for that Castiel thanked God for small favors. "I'm sorry, this is just really good," Castiel said, pulling out one of the crawfish's shell from his mouth. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever put in my mouth."

Sam leaned over and popped his brother's mouth shut, and he laughed some more. "That sounds like it was a spiritual experience for you, over there."

"You just don't know, it was so good," Castiel said, taking another huge bite. He knew it was bad manners, but he couldn't slow down.

"Maybe we'll put some weight on those bones of yours," Raphael said, smirking at him.

"If I ate like this every day," Castiel said, only slightly wincing at the harshness of his Boston accent in comparison to their soft words, "I'd weigh a million pounds."

"Have to find a way to work that off then, huh Dean?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean kicked him under the table, and then concentrated on the food on his own plate. "So what was Miss Anna talking about, earlier in the kitchen?" Castiel asked Dean, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothin' she should have been talking about in front of strangers," Dean said. "Don't worry about it."

"I would like to learn how to fight, will you teach me?" Castiel asked.

"You never fought before?" Raphael asked.

"I have been in a fight or two," Castiel said, looking down at his plate. He normally would have lost his appetite, admitting that, but that was before he discovered etoufee and gumbo and dirty potatoes. He kept shoveling food into his mouth.

"You never won, huh?" Sam asked.

"Not technically," Castiel said. "It was over before a winner could be decided. I did get one or two punches in before it was broken up by the teacher."

Sam looked confused. "You fought at school?"

"Yes, where else do you fight?"

"You never fight at school, that's disrespectful," Sam said. "You meet at the flagpole after school, or you meet before school, and you always try to keep it off school grounds. School is where you learn."

"You never went to the schools I went to, then," Castiel said, and he shoveled more food in his mouth.

Sam couldn't believe his ears, obviously. He kept eating and looking at Castiel. "You goin' to school with us tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, I suppose so," Castiel said. "Is it a large school?"

"We got a teacher for every grade," Sam said proudly. "It's the only school in the parish, but almost everyone who graduates from there goes to college."

"Even more now that there's the University in New Orleans," Raphael said. "Can't believe they're gonna' let me and Dean go there together."

"Your school is integrated?" Castiel asked, his eyes wide.

"Most of the smaller schools have been integrated for three years now, ever since Brown Vs. Board of Education. It was just too expensive to keep two schools in a parish this size," Sam shrugged. "We got more teachers out of the deal, too. It's why I don't have to sit in a classroom with this jerk over here," Sam gestured at Dean, who performed a rude gesture with his fingers but kept eating like he wasn't listening to them talk.

"Dean," Mrs. Winchester chided him from the other end of the table.

"I apologize, mama," Dean said, glaring at Sam.

Sam laughed some more, and Castiel wondered if he spent most of his time laughing at his brother.

Castiel took two or three more bites before a small boy ran into the dining room. "Dean, Dean!" he shouted, and then he came up short as soon as he saw Castiel and Mrs. Novak sitting at the same table. "Mr. Winchester," the boy automatically corrected himself. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but we need you in town."

Dean looked at the small black boy, and then he nodded his head. "Sammy," he said to his brother, and Sam immediately stood up. "Let's go."

Raphael also stood up, and they said good evening to everyone before they left the dining room with the small boy.

"Well," Mrs. Winchester said. "Shall we have some of Miss Anna's apple pie while we wait for them to get back?"

Castiel wondered what was going on, but he moved his plate closer to his mother and ate a piece of apple pie with the adults. He noticed that Mrs. Winchester and Mr. Freeman kept looking at each other, obviously worried about something, and he wondered if it was because the boys were doing something dangerous. He thought that it might take a while for them to open up to him, and he wondered if they would ever trust him enough to do that. He wanted to be friends with them, because they were nice an funny and he thought that maybe they wouldn't make fun of him for being so smart. They might, though. That wouldn't be fun.

Castiel helped Miss Anna clean the table, but she shooed him off from doing the dishes. He was left alone to explore the house, and he enjoyed flicking on the gas lamps in the house. It seemed so old-fashioned to him that they weren't using electricity, but he kind of liked it, too. The gas gave off a warmer light than the electrical light bulbs that he was used to in the houses he lived in previously.

There were a lot of rooms: a formal dining room, a sitting room, and the piano room had a lot of other instruments. He wished his mother would teach him how to play the piano, and he hit a few notes on that before he turned around and left the room. There was an office that probably belonged to Mr. Winchester whenever he was at home, and there were a few books on a single shelf.

He didn't know a lot about the purpose of the CIA, and every time he asked anyone he was most often given a blank stare. He thought it was a little like the FBI, only instead of dealing with internal threats to the United States, they dealt with other countries. He also knew that it had something to do with spying, but he wasn't quite sure what.

So, Castiel thought to himself, if he was a spy, where would he put his spy books? Castiel didn't have a whole lot to go on, but he figured with the layout of the room, and given the role that Louisiana played in the Underground Railroad and their own unique take on Prohibition, coupled with the fact that there was approximately a five foot spatial distance between the office and the sitting room on the other side of the office, there was more than likely a hidden room between them.

Castiel turned around and shut himself in the office. He studied the wall that adjoined the sitting room. Lined up on the wall there was a bookshelf closest to the wall that would have faced the hall, then a really ugly picture of a duck and some dogs, then a fireplace, another bookshelf, and then the window.

Castiel briefly wondered if he should be snooping, but he figured he had never gotten caught before, so what was the likelihood that he would get caught this time?

He looked behind the picture, and then he touched the carvings on the fireplace. He studied the dust patterns on the bookshelf next to the hall and then the one next to the window, and he smiled when he noticed that one of the books didn't have enough pages to be as thick as it looked on the binding. He pulled the book off the shelf, and sure enough the entire bookcase moved.

Castiel stepped inside the thin room, lined with bookshelves with books stacked on them, all around him. The books went all the way up the eleven foot ceiling, and Castiel immediately began reading the titles.

They were some very queer titles, too. Castiel recognized the Holy Bible, and he briefly wondered why there were so many versions of it, before he moved on to Kabbalah, the Sefer Yetzirah, The Thirteen Petaled Rose, the Necronomicon, and then lots of titles in Greek and Hebrew. Castiel cursed his lack of fluency in either language.

He recognized a few books in Russian, some containing folklore about Baba Yaga, others were holy books from the Russian Orthodox Church. There were books on American Folklore, books on British folklore, and books written in French and Spanish. Castiel couldn't believe that some of the books were even worth being hidden, and he wondered what exactly it was that Mr. Winchester was trying to hide.

He heard a diesel motor pulling up though, so he quickly left the room and put the book back where he found it, sighing in relief when he saw the bookshelf shutting behind him. He calmly walked upstairs to his room and opened his suitcase, and began to unpack his belongings, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths.

"Get him in his room," Castiel heard Sam trying to say quietly, but he heard the edge of panic in his voice.

Dean moaned, but it sounded smothered.

"Sh… not yet big brother, we're almost to your room. Can't be too loud or your new neighbor will suspect something," Castiel wondered if Sam even had any idea that his whisper wasn't nearly as quiet as he thought it must have been.

Castiel sighed, and then he stepped into the bathroom that adjoined Dean's room. "What happened?" he asked, but he was shocked at the sight of Raphael laying Dean out on the bed, blood soaking Dean's shirt as Dean was obviously struggling for consciousness.

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, coming to block the door between the bathroom and Dean's room, but when Dean moaned again Castiel pushed past him and studied him lying on the bed. "Okay, fine, not nothing, but it was an accident. We can handle…"

Castiel had already taken the pocket knife out of his back pocket and was slitting the front of Dean's shirt open. He gently pulled the cloth back from the cut on Dean's chest, where the blood was slowly starting to coagulate.

"I need alcohol, thread, gauze, and a needle," Castiel said.

Raphael and Sam stared at him.

"I've done this a million times for Senator Crowley when he didn't want it in the papers that he was out carousing all night, so you can trust me. You need to get me those things or Dean can get sick with the blood loss, you understand?" Castiel asked Sam and Raphael.

They brought him his supplies, and Castiel soaked the thread in the alcohol after cleaning Dean's chest with it. Dean passed out at that point, and Castiel was glad for it because it made it easier to stich him up. He kept the individual stiches small and even, and there wouldn't be much of a scar when it healed up. He wiped the area again with alcohol before padding the area with gauze that Raphael had procured somehow, and then had Sam help him hold Dean up while he wrapped Dean's chest with more gauze.

"You don't have to tell me what's going on," Castiel said, "but you can come to me when you need help."

Sam and Raphael looked at each other, and then they nodded.

Castiel took one last look at Dean. He had a really nice chest, and it would be terrible if it was scarred any more than it already was. Castiel blinked a few times, wondering where those thoughts came from, before he turned around and went back to his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks ever so much for reading my story, y'all! Thanks especially the two of you who took the time to leave me those sweet notes. Y'all are wonderful! **

It seemed that it didn't matter which school in this country Castiel attended: it was going to be a nightmare anywhere he went. He was above average in all of his classes, and in most classes he had read more than the teachers. He could keep that pretty hidden, but since math was at the end of the day he wasn't being as careful as he should have been.

The teacher told him to go ahead and take the test that everyone else had spent weeks preparing for. She said that it would be a good indicator for her to see where he was, so that she could figure out how to get him caught up with the rest of the class.

Castiel did the test. It took him about ten minutes, and he knew he got every answer right, so he turned it in as soon as he was finished.

"You're not even going to try?" the teacher asked him, pity in her eyes.

"I finished the test," Castiel said, and then he looked around the room where everyone else was still in the middle of the sheet she had passed out. _Shit, _ he thought to himself. He should have taken longer. "Um, I can sit back down and do it again…"

The teacher, Castiel couldn't remember her name but he thought it started with an 'A,' and it was possibly French, was already looking at what he had written down. She was staring, and then she pulled out the answer sheet that she kept in her drawer. "Castiel," she breathed, "You got all these right, honey."

"Um, it might have been a mistake? Maybe I cheated?" he tried to cover up for himself.

"You been sitting here all day, and you knew all the answers, didn't you?" she accused him.

"Well, see, what had happened was…" Castiel tried to keep his voice down, but the other kids were stopping what they were doing and just… staring at him.

"Boy, are you a genius?" the teacher wasn't even trying to be quiet.

"No ma'am," Castiel stuttered. "I'm just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else… boy, you got some of these answers and you didn't even take all the steps that you were supposed to take. In some places you just wrote the answer after writing out half the problem. Have you been wasting your time in this class all day?"

"No ma'am," Castiel said, scared that he was about to get punished.

"Ruby Lee Dupre," the teacher called out to one of the girls sitting in the back. "You proctor this test for the rest of the day, you hear me girl? I hear that one of you stepped out of line while I was gone, and I'm gonna get a switch, you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," the class chorused together as the teacher stood up.

Castiel panicked. A switch? He hadn't done anything wrong, and now he was going to get punished?

"You come with me, Castiel Novak," the teacher said. She started marching out of the room.

Castiel followed her, feeling kind of like a duckling waddling after her. He passed the room that Dean and Raphael were sitting in, and both of them immediately started following them down the hall.

"Miss Aucoin, what did Castiel do?" Dean called after her. They passed the room that Sam was in, and he got up to find out what was going on. "Castiel is stayin' at our place, Miss Aucoin, is he in trouble? I'm responsible for him, I'll take his lickin's," Dean tried to say.

"Mr. Winchester, you need to go back to class," Castiel's teacher answered him.

"What did you do, Cas?" Dean asked.

"I turned my test in early," Castiel admitted, feeling horrible about it.

Dean and Raphael both looked confused.

"Miss Aucoin," a large white man stood at the doorway to the room that Miss Aucoin had just knocked. "What is the problem…" he looked past her to see the Winchester boys and Raphael and Castiel. "The Winchester boys are good boys, what did they do?"

"It isn't them, they just want to be nosy, Principal Thibodaux," Miss Aucoin said. "This is about the new boy."

"His papers stated that he was a good boy," the principal said, confused.

"He is. He just finished my math assessment test in ten minutes. I think he's been wasting his time in class all day. He don't need to be in my class, he needs to go up a grade. This is just trouble waiting to happen. Look at what he wrote down on this piece of paper," she thrust the paper at the principal, and Castiel felt his face turning red as he stared down at the ground. God, he hated attention.

The principal stared at Castiel's handwriting for a moment. "These all right?" he asked the teacher.

"Yes, even one of them that I got wrong on my key. I had to see his paper before I even realized it. Look, he didn't even write the problem out."

"Fine. You never judged a kid wrong before, Miss Aucoin. Dean, why don't you take this new boy back to your class. Looks like y'all are going to graduate together. Castiel, you bring your mama up here tomorrow and we can start talking about make up work and writing some letters to some colleges…"

"I can't go to college," Castiel said, his eyes getting big. "I can't afford…"

"Boy, you just passed one of Miss Aucoin's tests…" the principal started to say.

"In ten minutes," Miss Aucoin interrupted him.

"In what?" the principal's mouth hung open for a moment. He blinked a few times, and then he smiled at Castiel. "You don't worry none about your college tuition. This parish takes care of its own, y'hear me? I just got to notify the ladies down at the Church that they got another boy they got to look after with this year's graduating class. They'll be impressed that you passed Miss Aucoin's test. How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen, sir," Castiel said, his mind spinning.

"Shoot boy, what else you got in that head of yours? I can't wait to see how you do with the twelfth graders here. We might have to get one of them university professors down here…"

"Sir…" Castiel's curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Yes boy?"

"Why is that so impressive?" he wanted to know.

"Miss Aucoin went to school all the way to Vanderbilt University in Nashville. She wanted to come back and teach her own people, though, and sometimes she works for the governor when he needs some help," the principal sat back at his desk.

Castiel nodded, and then he looked at the tiny white woman for a moment. "Shouldn't I stay with her, then?"

"No sir," Miss Aucoin said. "You're gonna get out of here as soon as possible. People need you to use that brain, and you aren't gonna throw away God's gift to you under my watch."

Dean and Raphael were snickering behind him at that point, and Castiel felt absolutely wretched.

Sam patted him on the back before he excused himself, reassured that nothing bad was going to happen to his new housemate. He kicked Dean in the shin before leaving though, and that made Castiel feel a little bit better, especially when both the principal and Miss Aucoin ignored it.

Dean and Raphael teased him all the way back to their class, asking him if they wanted him to carry his books or if he needed help propping up his head, 'cause it just had to be tired from holding up that ginormous brain all day. Castiel hated them at that point, hated them with a fiery passion and wanted to just tell them to go to Hell, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

They sat down in class, making sure that Castiel was between them, and despite a few odd looks from the other kids Castiel was blessedly ignored for the last remaining twenty minutes of class.

His new teacher told him to get on home, and that she would talk to him more the next day.

"Hey, nerd boy," one of the kids called at Castiel as he was walking out the school doors, "You readin' books about… oomph…" the kid's taunt was cut off short by Dean's forearm in his throat.

"I hear you sayin' one mean thing to him, I'm gonna break your neck, I don't care where we are, get it?" Dean asked the boy.

The kid looked scared of Dean. He didn't say anything at all, and Dean let him go and walked up to Castiel, putting his arm around his neck, only in a much more friendly manner than he did the bully. "So, we got our own genius in the house now, don't we?"

"It's not like that," Castiel said, wishing that Dean would take his arm off of his shoulders but at the same time praying that he never would. He wasn't used to feeling so conflicted, and it bothered him that he had never felt this way before, so he couldn't figure out what it was.

One of the kids from the lower classes walked up to Dean and Castiel. "Mr. Winchester," the little boy greeted Dean. "My mama said for me to give you this pie. She knows you like pie, Mr. Winchester. She said to thank you for your help last night."

Castiel recognized the boy who had come to the dining room last night.

"Thank you, Garth," Dean said, looking fondly at the boy staring up at him.

"Mama said you might also want to know…" and then the boy started talking in some language that Castiel had never heard before. It kind of sounded like French, not that Castiel could speak French, but something was wrong with it.

Dean's face instantaneously turned into a stormcloud. He rattled off something that sounded like the same language to the boy, and the boy nodded his head. "Thank you again, Garth. I'll look into it."

"What language was that?" Castiel asked as soon as Garth had run away to join some other children his own age.

"That's Cajun, _sha,_" Dean laughed at him, and Castiel could hear his deep chuckle all the way through his body.

"_Sha_?" Castiel repeated, dumbly.

Dean's face fell, like a mask was falling on top of it. He removed his arm, and although Castiel wanted to protest the action he remained silent. "You might not want to call people that," Dean mumbled, and he was saved from further explanation by the appearance of Raphael and Sam.

The four of them walked home together, and silence stretched them all thin, although Castiel heard Dean whispering to Raphael and Sam in Cajun occasionally. Castiel wondered what they were all saying, and the few times he looked up at the other boys they got quiet very quickly.

Castiel was saved from explaining the incident at school to his mother by Dean, of all people. He started telling the story almost the moment they stepped into the Winchester home, and Castiel was shocked to hear that Dean sounded like he was _proud_ of Castiel's brain, like he was _bragging_ about what had happened at school.

"That's just wonderful, dear," Mrs. Winchester said, and she wrapped him up in a hug that smelled like talcum powder and lavender. Castiel was shocked that this woman would hug him, and he tried to return the hug awkwardly, but that just got him teased by Sam and Raphael.

Mrs. Novak watched quietly, and Castiel knew why she wasn't saying anything. Standing out was never a good thing; standing out got people killed or ostracized, standing out meant that you weren't protected. Castiel felt really bad about the day, wishing that he were more careful. "I'm sorry, mama," Castiel whispered to her when he sat next to her on the sofa.

"It was bound to happen sometime," Mrs. Novak whispered, patting Castiel's hand on his lap. "I just hope that people around here don't punish you for it."

Dean, who had stayed pretty close to Castiel, heard and gave them both a strange look. Castiel noticed, but he knew his mother didn't because she was too busy watching her son with a worried look on her face. Castiel just blushed and looked at the floor.

Dinner that night was delicious, again. Miss Anna said that she just threw it together, but the boudin she fixed was spicy and Castiel was seriously wondering if she would marry him by the time he had filled his stomach up. He wondered if the fact that she was Redbone Cajun would affect anyone, and if he could bribe the priest with some of her cooking he figured that the priest would try to steal her from him. He looked up from the table to see the glance that she and Raphael exchanged, and he gave up all hope. They were obviously very interested in each other.

After dinner, Castiel was surprised when the entire family gathered on the porch, and the Winchester brothers pulled out guitars. They strummed a few tunes, and Raphael pulled out a banjo and Uriel played the harmonica. The music was soft, and it seemed to soothe the night around them, the crickets chimed in occasionally and the cicaidas kept rhythm in the background, interrupted occasionally by a loud frog. Castiel rested his head against the porch post, closed his eyes, and listened.

"You play anything?" Dean asked him.

"What? No," Castiel said.

"How 'bout you, Mrs. Novak, you know any instruments?" Dean asked Castiel's mother.

"I don't know any songs that you are playing," Mrs. Novak skirted the question.

"What do you play?" Uriel asked, interested.

"Oh, I don't…"

"Oh, I didn't know you were musical," Mrs. Winchester said. "What songs do you know?"

"Nothing you would have ever heard of, I would think," Mrs. Novak said, and she was really uncomfortable with the attention. Castiel wished he knew some way of saving her, but he knew his mother would not thank him for it.

"What instrument do you play?" Mrs. Winchester pressed.

"I can play the piano and the violin," Mrs. Novak admitted, as if she were confessing to a crime.

"Sammy, go get your daddy's fiddle," Mrs. Winchester instructed him.

Sam got up and walked into the house while Mrs. Novak protested. He returned after a few minutes with a beat up case.

Mrs. Novak's eyes widened, and Castiel knew that there were tears in the large green depths. He knew how much she wanted to play, knew how much she missed it, and he prayed that these people wouldn't shun them after she did. It would be wonderful to live in a home where he could hear his mother's music.

"I haven't played in a very long time. I might not be any good," Mrs. Novak said, reverently touching the violin's strings.

"Well, we could blame it on the fiddle, it ain't been touched in years, neither," Uriel said with a grin.

Mrs. Novak placed the instrument under her chin, her whole body shaking as she tightened the strings on the bow. She pulled a gummy piece of rosin out of the case, and wiped the bow's strings down with it before running them over the strings for a few minutes, twisting the pegs at the other end until they sounded right to her.

"My teacher in Russia wrote this song. It is called _Vocalise_," she said quietly before she started the first few notes.

Castiel didn't bother stopping the tears that rolled down his cheeks as his mother played, hitting a few wrong notes and then letting the music come back to her, her eyes closed as she let the song direct her movements. He knew his mother could play the song perfectly, but she preferred to let her emotions dictate the length of the phrases, the loudness or softness of the bow pressure, the speed her fingers flew across the fret board. It turned the music into something else, something otherworldly, and it made Castiel scared for her.

He felt Dean's fingers on his cheeks, wiping away tears. He looked into the other boy's green eyes, and he was startled by the expression on Dean's face. It was tender, like Dean was looking at him with a deep friendship, and Castiel found himself staring back.

"That was lovely, Mrs. Novak," Mrs. Winchester said with her hand over her heart at the end of the song. "Thank you so much for sharing that with us."

Mrs. Novak thanked Mrs. Winchester for the compliment, and the two ladies went inside, discussing going into New Orleans on the following day to purchase new strings for the old violin and getting the bow restrung, so that they could hear more wonderful songs.

Sam claimed that he had homework, and Raphael and Uriel gathered up the instruments and wiped them down, putting them away for the night.

Castiel and Dean sat on the front porch together, staring at each other.

"You want to talk about it?" Dean asked Castiel.

"Not really," Castiel said.

"You and your mama must have been through a lot, if you're trying to hide so much."

"Hiding is better most of the time," Castiel said.

"You don't need to hide anymore," Dean told Castiel. "I'm gonna protect you. You and your mama, you hear me?"

"Why?" Castiel asked, confused by Dean. He wasn't just confused by the protective streak that he had recognized in the older Winchester, he was confused as to why Dean acted like they were friends when they had really just met.

"It's what I do," Dean said with a cocky smirk. "That, and I feel like it's my job. I have to take care of you, and I don't know why. I take care of people all of the time, I have all my life. My dad hasn't been home so most people just call me Mr. Winchester and expect me to take care of the parrish like my grandfather did. But you and your mama, you're part of our family now. It was brave of y'all to come down South like ya did, brave or desperate. Plus, you saved me from lots of embarrassment in front of my mama last night, so I owe you."

Castiel stared at Dean some more. "What were you doing last night?"

Dean cleared his throat, and for the first time he broke eye contact with Castiel. "Sometimes, Cas," he said, looking up at the stars, "Sometimes it's just best that a man keep his secrets."

**A/N: I am fully aware that by the time Mrs. Novak was a child in Russia, Rachmaninoff would have already emigrated to the United States because of the Russian Revolution of 1917. It's a story, y'all, roll wid' me here. Also, the word "Sha" can also be spelled "Cher," but to my English ears it doesn't sound the same as the French "Cher" so I spelled it like the Cajuns say it. Cajun is a patois language unique to the state of Louisiana in the United States: it consists of words mainly derived from French, but also includes Spanish, German, Portuguese, Hatian Creole, and some Native American words, mainly from the Choctaw and Algonquin nations. I don't speak it, but know plenty of people who do, so if you have questions I can try and find answers for you.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel woke up Saturday morning to the strains of Elvis Presley's "All Shook Up." He grinned at the thought that even a week ago, he would have no idea who the singer was, but Dean had sat him down and made him listen to his records of Elvis and Buddy Holly and Jerry Lee Lewis, Ella Fitzgerald and Johnny Cash and Duke Ellington. Castiel was pretty sure that the other kids in Boston had mentioned some of the names before, but now that he had time to actually listen to them he understood where their enjoyment came from.

Castiel rolled out of bed, his feet enjoying the coolness of the wooden floor. He pulled a pair of pants on over his underwear before he padded over to Dean's room through their shared bathroom.

"Oh, sorry Cas, did I wake you up?" Dean asked, not looking sorry at all. He was laying on his bed with his feet propped against the wall, throwing a baseball up in the air and catching it.

"Yes," Castiel said, moving over to sit next to Dean. "Why did you do it?"

"We got something important to do today," Dean said.

"What's that?" Castiel yawned, and then fell sideways on Dean's bed, snuggling into the covers.

Dean paused for such a long time that Castiel thought that he might be letting him go back to sleep, so he kept his eyes closed and let himself drift off a little. It was nice, smelling Dean's bedsheets, nice and calming, for some strange reason.

"We got to get down at the Piggly Wiggly and pick up some groceries, and then we have to pick up some things at the seamstress for mama," Dean said, his voice rough all of a sudden.

"Get down at the Piggly Wiggly?" Castiel asked, his eyes still closed as he snuggled deeper into the sheets. "Do you even hear yourself? That doesn't make any sense."

"Cajun expression, _sha_," Dean said, his hand coming down on Castiel's head to ruffle his hair.

"What does that word mean?" Castiel asked again, but Dean was already off the bed and looking through his chifferobe for a shirt.

"Get up, lazy bones, we got work to do. Put some clothes on or you're responsible for beatin' all those girls off of you."

Castiel got off the bed and grumbled a little, going back to his room to find a shirt. He pulled on his undershirt and found a light long-sleeved shirt to put on top of that. He had already learned that in the South, it was best to have something between your skin and the sun, especially the way his pale skin had reacted after his first couple of days being exposed to it. Anna had clucked at him after smearing some sort of white lotion all over his neck and arms after Dean had drug him outside after school to work on his Chevy Bel-Air. Castiel liked being drug around by Dean, although he didn't understand why Sam thought it was something to giggle about every time he followed Dean to do something new.

They left Sam asleep down the hall, but Raphael followed them and took the backseat in the car.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit up front with Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Don't feel like dealin' with the hurt feelings of folk who might see 'dat," Raphael said. "Let's just go."

Castiel didn't understand why it would hurt peoples' feelings for Raphael to sit up front, and Dean smiled at his confusion. "You'll understand, given time," Dean promised.

They rode into town in Dean's car. Castiel liked the white leather seats in the interior, and he kept running his fingers up and down the material. He noticed Dean was staring at his hands, and he blushed when Dean cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat. Castiel thought he might have done something wrong, maybe Dean didn't want his handprints all over the seats or something, so he clasped his hands together and held them between his legs so that he wouldn't touch anything else.

The seamstress was a blond Cajun woman who greeted Dean with a big smile. They talked in Cajun, and she seemed concerned about something as she handed some dresses over to Dean. Castiel kept hearing the name "Azazel," and he wondered what that was about because Dean seemed upset about it. Dean didn't normally get upset about much of anything; he was a serious fellow but nothing seemed to really rock his boat the way that this name was doing.

They went to the Piggly Wiggly, which turned out to be a grocery store and not a slaughterhouse, as Castiel had originally assumed. He had fun walking around the aisles with Dean and Raphael, even though Raphael walked a few steps behind them and didn't seem to want to talk as much when they were around other people. Castiel had to wait a few minutes by himself at the meat counter while Dean and Raphael went to get some other supplies, and that was when the butcher started talking to him.

"You just moved in with the Winchesters, didn't you?" the butcher asked as one of his assistants was cutting up a roast behind him.

"Yes sir," Castiel said.

"They are some queer folk," the butcher said. "They try throwin' salt on you yet?"

"What?" Castiel asked, and this time he didn't think it was just him that would be confused about the conversation.

"They believe in all them ghosts and stuff, don't they?" the butcher asked.

"Ghosts is real," the assistant piped up behind the butcher.

"They is not, don't say a daft thing like that," the butcher said. "They believe in all that spirit hoodoo and they work with them Voodouns, don't they?"

Castiel paused for a moment, and then he realized the question had been directed at him. "Sir, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about."

"And sure you don't," the butcher said, rolling his eyes. "You must already be loyal to them, keepin' their secrets like that. They probably just devil worshipers…"

"Sir, my employer and her sons are not devil worshipers," Castiel defended the Winchesters, who had not been anything but kind to him and his mother since they had arrived.

"You keep thinking that," the butcher said, disgusted with Castiel. "I heard you were clever, and they already pulled the wool over your eyes. You be careful living in that house, boy. You could lose your soul."

"How is it that you do not believe in ghosts, but you are scared for my soul?" Castiel asked.

"They will suck it out of you and use it for one of those ceremonies. They dancin' nekkid in the moonlight for those devil ceremonies?" the butcher kept asking strange questions.

"Sir, I do believe you have been misinformed," Castiel said, starting to get angry. "My employers are not devil worshipers…"

"Devil worshipers?" Dean said, walking back up to the counter. "What are you talking about, Castiel?"

The butcher stayed silent, moving away from Dean and Raphael, and making a sign with his fingers that Castiel recognized as a ward against evil.

Castiel was mad, and he walked out of the Piggly Wiggly without saying anything to Dean or Raphael. He stood outside the car until they came, because it was too hot to sit inside of it to wait for them.

"What happened in there, Cas?" Dean asked him as he walked out of the store.

"Nothing, let's go home," Castiel said, jerking the car door open and sitting in the seat.

"_Dis-moi la vérité! _What happened in that store, Castiel?" Dean demanded.

Castiel had no idea what the first part of that question was, but he mumbled, "The butcher said you were devil worshipers."

"What?" Dean asked, and Raphael started dying laughing in the backseat.

"He said you danced naked in the moonlight," Castiel continued. He looked out the window to stare at the trees and the marshes, thick with Spanish Moss. He thought about Dean dancing naked out there, under the moonlight, and he was disconcerted on how he briefly got entranced with the thought.

Raphael was splayed out in the backseat, laughing his fool head off. Dean was snickering, trying to pay attention to the road. "So what about it, Cas, you think we worship the devil?"

"Of course not," Castiel muttered.

"People say things about us, Cas. Some of them aren't true, and some of them are. I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you," Dean shrugged, and then he added, "Dancing naked in the moonlight. And what the Hell would be the purpose of that?"

Castiel sat there for a minute, his anger seeping away. "Kind of sounds like fun, don't you think?"

Raphael roared with laughter, and Dean joined in this time.

They unloaded the groceries and went into the parlour, where Mrs. Novak and Mrs. Winchester were doing some embroidery together. Dean whispered a few words to his mother. Mrs. Winchester looked concerned, and she pulled Dean to one of the corners of the room where they continued whispering to each other.

Castiel sat next to his mother and told her about the Piggly Wiggly, and she laughed over the name of the store and patted his knee. He left out the part about the butcher because he didn't want his mother overhearing it; she had enough history of being accused of witchcraft that she didn't need to deal with this, and Castiel didn't think he was wrong protecting her from that information.

"Castiel," Mrs. Winchester said. "Dean needs to run into New Orleans to pick up a few supplies. Would you like to go with him? I know you haven't seen much of the city yet, and I think that you would enjoy it."

Castiel looked up at Dean, who didn't look terribly thrilled with the proposition, but resigned that his mother's wishes were to be followed. "Yes Mrs. Winchester, I can do that."

"Castiel might be in the way," Mrs. Novak said, taking Castiel's hand in her own.

"No," Dean said, smiling at Castiel's mother, "I just don't want to go alone, and Sam and Raphael should stay home for right now."

"Castiel," his mother said, "no fighting?"

"I don't do that anymore, mother," Castiel mumbled under his breath.

Dean laughed. "I thought you said you didn't know how to fight."

"Castiel doesn't fight," Mrs. Novak said firmly. "Right, Castiel? No drinking, either?"

"Mother, I'll be the model of sainthood, I assure you," Castiel said, feeling his face turn red.

Castiel followed Dean back to his car, and they rolled the windows down for their trip into the city. "So, you were having us on when you said you had only been in a few fights?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'm the bastard son of a housemaid. Your house is not the first my mother has served in, nor is it the first to have boys my own age in it. Sometimes, my school performance was looked on as a personal affront to the boys and their fathers, who would take it as an insult that I was able to do better than them in an academic setting."

"So, you have scrapped a time or two?" Dean asked.

"Or fifty," Castiel admitted, grudgingly.

"So why did you act like you hadn't fought before?" Dean asked him.

"I wanted to prove that even if I did better than you in school that it wasn't a reason for you to physically confront me about it before it happened," Castiel stated, staring out the window. If he didn't stare out the window, he was afraid that he would stare at Dean, instead.

"You know, I've been in a fight once or twice myself," Dean said, "I might surprise you, and where would that have left you?"

Castiel gave up. He stared at Dean, "I am a good fighter."

"Okay cowboy, we're gonna have to scrap now. I just want to see you fight," Dean said. "I would never hit you for doing better in school than me."

Castiel continued staring at Dean. He had freckles, and Castiel wondered if he could count them without getting caught. Suddenly, the need to know exactly how many freckles Dean had was overwhelming.

"Do I have something on my face?" Dean asked, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Sorry," Castiel said, staring out the window again. "What are we getting?"

"Photography supplies," Dean said vaguely. "We're out of silver nitrate at home."

It sounded like a lie to Castiel, so he turned back to stare at Dean some more. "I didn't know you developed pictures."

"Um, it's not for pictures," Dean said, and then he licked his lower lip.

Castiel followed the movement of Dean's tongue with his eyes. He couldn't figure out why he liked the way it looked, and then it left Dean's lip shiny and really pretty. Castiel went back to staring at his freckles, but his eyes kept darting back to that lip. This time, he felt like he had to tear his eyes away from Dean's face, ripping them away and letting them rest, take shelter on the green scenery that passed them on their way to New Orleans.

What was going on inside of his head? He had just thought that Dean's lip was pretty. He had never even thought that a girl's lip was pretty before. He reached up to pull on his hair some, these thoughts were obviously not normal at all.

"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean asked him.

"What? Nothing," Castiel lied to him.

"Look, the silver nitrate…"

"I don't care anymore," Castiel said. He kind of didn't want to hear Dean's voice while he was figuring out what was going on inside of him. "Actually, there is something I do want to know. Why do you keep calling me _sha_?"

"It's just a nickname, like Cas," Dean weaseled.

"So it would be okay for me to call other people this word?" Castiel pressed. He knew that it wasn't okay, Dean had as much said so earlier, but he wanted to know why.

"Look, it's something that you only call your friends," Dean said, clearing his throat.

"So it would be okay for me to call Sam and Raphael _sha_?" Castiel pushed.

"Don't call them that," Dean said.

"Can I call you that?" Castiel kept pushing.

"Damn it, Cas, I shouldn't have called you that in the first place. It's a term boys use to call girls they're fond of, it means 'Dear one,' okay?" Dean said.

"Dean, I am not a girl," Cas said stupidly.

"Don't I know it," Dean mumbled.

"I am confused, Dean," Castiel said.

"I am, too," Dean sounded angry about it, so Castiel remained silent on the way to the photographers.

They walked in, and there was a very pretty light skinned black receptionist. She smiled at Dean and introduced herself as Meg when Dean introduced Castiel. She shooed Dean into the back to speak with the photographer, and Castiel was left alone with her.

"How you like livin' with the Winchesters?" Meg asked him.

"They are very hospitable and kind," Castiel said.

"They a good family," Meg nodded her head in agreement. "They do their duty to the community. Sometimes, they even get calls to come in all the way to New Orleans, when there's something that can't be handled here."

Castiel paused only a moment before answering, "I bet, they're really something, aren't they?"

"No one can handle all those problem better than the Winchester boys. Their papa used to take care of it, and before that their mama's papa took care of all of the crazies, but when their papa got called by the government after serving in that ter'ble war, those boys stepped up like real men. Ain't never seen anyone knows how to kill so many diff'ernt types…"

"Meg," the photographer called out. "Stop flappin' your mouf."

Meg glared back at the photographer's direction, but then she looked a little specutatively at Castiel. "You look tired. You want a drink?"

"Yes please," Castiel said, and he could feel his voice getting rough. The Winchesters killed things?

Meg poured him a very small glass of a green liquid. She smiled at him before passing it over. "I bet you'll like this," and she had an impish grin on her face.

Castiel took it and sniffed it, wincing at the strong licorice smell coming from the glass. "What is this?"

"Oh don't worry none, you'll like it just fine. Try it," Meg had a devilish glint in her eyes, like she thought he wouldn't do it.

Castiel emptied the glass, swallowing the entire portion in one gulp. The taste was atrocious, and he wondered what it was he just swallowed as he coughed, his throat protesting at the treatment.

Meg just poured him another glass. Castiel drank this one more slowly, running his tongue over his teeth in an effort to get the taste out of his mouth. Meg urged him to drink a third glass, laughter bubbling up in her chest and gurgling out like a sick thing as Castiel drank the last of it.

"What are you giving Castiel?" Dean asked Meg.

"Oh, nothing that will kill him," Meg said as she poured him another glass.

"Meg, is that… Meg, you aren't giving him absinthe, are you? He's a Yankee, he has no idea what that stuff can do…"

"I know, ain't it just fun?" Meg laughed as Castiel drank half of the glass.

"I can handle it," Castiel said, and he was surprised when his words started slurring.

Dean grabbed the glass away from Castiel. "Damn it boy, that stuff has wormwood in it. That's a poison…"

"You might want to stay at my house for the night, so your mama doesn't see him in this state. She'll be so upset with you…"

"Meg, we aren't going to stay at your house," Dean glared at her. "I'm taking him home…"

"You might want to reconsider that…" Meg called after Dean as he pulled Castiel out by the collar of his shirt.

"Damn it, Cas, now what am I going to do with you?" Dean mumbled as he pushed a stumbling Castiel into his car.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the late update; I had some very important Avengers watching to do, and it messed with my schedule. BTW, Avengers? Best comic book movie ever, hands down.**

The light hit Castiel's eyes, bright and opalescent. The greens that were soothing to him earlier in the day fractured into a myriad of colors. "Dean, it's so beautiful."

"Yeah, Cas, I'm sure it is. How much of that stuff did she give you?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said. "Your eyes are the same green as the colors outside," Castiel resisted the urge to touch Dean's eyes, as a part of his mind was relatively certain that Dean would not appreciate a finger in his eyeball.

"Shit, we're not going to be able to go back to the house for a good minute," Dean said, pulling his car into a secluded, wooded area. He pulled Castiel out of the car after parking, and sat him down on the hood of the car. "Now, don't move."

Castiel pitched forward, reluctant to sit up now that the backrest from the front seat was gone.

Dean caught him in his arms, and then sighed. "Okay, apparently not gonna happen. Let's try a different spot."

Castiel was briefly disconcerted about the ease with which Dean picked him up and carried him over to a tree, but he sat down and leaned back against the old oak and stared at Dean. "I don't feel drunk," Castiel told him.

"You won't," Dean explained. "You're drunk, that stuff is almost pure alcohol, but it isn't like normal alcohol. You're going to feel sober, but trust me, you aren't."

"Everything is really clear," Castiel frowned, surveying the scenery. "I feel like I'm looking at everything through a magnifying glass."

"That's normal. If you see anything that you aren't supposed to see, it's because you're hallucinating. That happens with that stuff, sometimes, too," Dean told him.

"Huh," Castiel replied. "Your eyes are the color of creation," he said, and he blushed immediately and clapped his hand over his mouth.

Dean blushed, "Thanks man," he stared at his lap for a minute.

"How many freckles do you have?" Castiel wished he could sew his mouth shut, but it was apparently running away from him.

"Are you just going to ask random questions all day?" Dean asked, and Castiel liked the way that the tips of his ears stayed red, and his effort to control his blush was only making it worse.

"Seems like," Castiel said in an exaggerated Southern drawl.

Dean laughed at him. "We'll teach you to talk right in no time," he said, and Castiel wondered if he was trying to change the subject.

"Can I ask you something?" Castiel said, still not wanting to lean forward from the tree. "I mean, I promise not to tell anyone if you promise not to punch me."

Dean looked uncomfortable. He swallowed pretty hard, looked at the ground for more than a few moments, and then looked up into Castiel's eyes, completely vulnerable. "Okay, I promise not to punch you if you promise not to tell."

Castiel took a deep breath, "What is it that you kill?"

"What?" Dean asked, shocked.

"Does it have anything to do with that secret room in your dad's office? Is it why we were getting silver nitrate? Is it why the kids at school respect you so much, and is it why you were so torn up the other night?" Castiel really wanted to know.

Dean's mouth flapped open and closed for more than a few moments, like he was trying to figure something out or he was so shocked that Castiel asked so many questions. "What secret room in my dad's office?"

"The one behind the bookcase," Castiel looked at Dean.

"There's a secret room behind the bookcase?"

"Yes, you didn't know?"

"No, I didn't. What's in it?"

"Books. Lots of books. Most of them aren't even in English, but I recognized French, German, Latin, Greek, Russian…"

"When did you find a secret room at my house?"

"The first night I was here. You really didn't know about it?" Castiel asked, his blue eyes wide.

Dean stared at him for a while. "Cas, there are things that happen out there that have no logical explanation. Things that the police officers can't handle. My family takes care of those problems, and we have for hundreds of years. Those are the things that I kill."

Castiel nodded his head. "So, you do kill things."

"Yes. I do."

"Why did you look so shocked when I asked you that question? Like you were expecting a different kind of question or something?"

Dean cleared his throat. He looked out into the trees, staring at nothing in particular. "I thought you were going to ask me something that I don't know if I'm ready to talk about yet."

"Admitting that you kill things that the police can't handle is easier than this question that I didn't ask? What did you think I was going to ask?" Castiel wanted to know.

"This isn't something I'm quite comfortable with…"

"Now I want to know," Castiel grinned, reaching out to poke Dean's hand. "You have to tell me."

"I thought you were going to ask me if I liked you?" Dean looked scared and so open that Castiel's heart ached to see it."

"Of course you like me," Castiel said, confused.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I like you, too. We're friends, aren't we?" Castiel smiled at Dean, open and accepting. How strange that Dean could think that they weren't friends.

"Oh," Dean said, leaning back on his elbows beside Castiel. "Yeah, we're friends."

"I think you're my first friend, Dean," Castiel said, letting his body fall so that his head was resting in Dean's lap.

"Really?" Dean asked, his voice breaking from the pleasant baritone that Castiel had grown to find comforting.

"Yes. Most people hate me for one reason or another. You just seem to put up with the fact that I'm too curious and annoying."

"I don't find you annoying," Dean said, clearing his throat. "I think we just get along well."

Castiel moved his head, enjoying the way that Dean's cotton pants felt against his cheek. "We do, don't we? Thank you for being my friend, Dean."

"God," Dean said, gasping for breath. "You're like a kitten. A really, really naïve kitten."

"You feel good," Castiel said. He rolled on his back so he could look up into Dean's eyes, his head still resting on his thigh. "Everything feels so good right now."

"Jesus," Dean whispered, his green eyes staring down at Castiel. "Okay, we're going to have to do something else right now," his voice said, getting stronger. "You ever shot a gun?"

"What? No, I've never even touched a gun."

"God damn it," Dean said, after staring at Castiel as if he was trying to figure out what he was saying.

Castiel just grinned up at him, and Dean groaned, throwing his head back and running a hand over his face.

"Okay sleeping beauty, you just rest your head on this here ground while I take some things outta the car trunk, ya hear?" Dean said, scooting out from underneath Castiel's head.

"Okay," Castiel said happily, "I promise I won't move until you come back."

"Fuck," Dean said, almost glaring at Castiel, who just couldn't stop smiling at Dean.

"You keep cussing," Castiel observed.

"You're cuss worthy," Dean mumbled with his head stuck in the trunk of the car. Castiel saw that he was taking out two shot guns and loading them with a couple of shells.

Dean pulled the two guns out of the car and walked over to Castiel, picking him up and leaning him back against his warm and comfortable chest. He put the gun in Castiel's hands, showed him how to hold the butt of it tight against his shoulder, pointed out the site and taught him how to aim.

Castiel liked the way that Dean's arms felt around him, liked the way that Dean kept manipulating his body so that he could shoot. Dean's voice was soft in his ear, and it sent tingles down his neck and spine.

"Okay," Dean said, "You got your site on that tree?"

"Mmm," Castiel said, wanting to let his head fall back and rest on Dean's warm shoulder.

"Alright, now put your finger on the trigger like that and squeeze. Don't pull, it'll knock your aim off."

Castiel squeezed the little piece of metal, and he was still surprised at the force of the shot. His body pressed back into Dean's, and Castiel blushed when Dean's erection pressed between the cheeks of his ass. He wondered if Dean knew he was hard, and he wondered why he wanted to keep pushing back against it, and he wondered why knowing that Dean was aroused was sending tingles back up his spine, and he wondered if they would meet with the tingles doing down his spine from Dean's voice in his ear and cause his body to spontaneously combust.

He didn't say anything about it as Dean corrected his aim and told him to shoot again. He let his body stay close to Dean's a little longer after he pulled the trigger, enjoying the way that it felt to be so close. "Again," Castiel said, when Dean didn't move away from him after the last shot. "I want to shoot again."

Dean kept his arms wrapped around Castiel, whispering something into his ear as he fixed the gun up again, his hands on top of Castiel's hands. Castiel didn't even wait for them to aim and squeeze the trigger before he cuddled up in Dean's arms, enjoying the physical touching more than the shooting. Dean's voice sounded creaky, rusted as he kept saying words that Castiel didn't understand, his voice in Castiel's ear.

Castiel wanted to moan for some reason, and thanks to the absinthe he didn't have many inhibitions left on him. He made a noise deep in his throat, and he felt Dean tightening up behind him. "Sorry Dean," Castiel whispered, scared that Dean would pull away from him and dreading that inevitability.

"It's okay," Dean whispered, "Let's just put the guns up. This wasn't such a good idea, I guess."

"It's getting dark," Castiel agreed, even though Dean wasn't moving. "Our mamas are probably getting ready for bed now."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, and he slowly moved away from Castiel.

Castiel wanted to protest, wanted to insist on being physically close to Dean. He knew that wasn't right though, and he concentrated on standing while Dean put the guns in the car. It took a lot more effort than he thought it should, and he found himself giggling about that.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, and he looked a little irritated about it.

"I have to think about standing," Castiel answered him.

Dean gave him that half-smirk, and then he led Castiel to the front seat and pushed him in. Castiel waited for Dean to get back into the car before flopping over and putting his head back in Dean's lap. "You are a cuddle monster, with that absinthe," Dean laughed at him.

"I like cuddling," Castiel admitted.

"This no inhibitions thing with you is hilariously ridiculous, Castiel."

"Mmm," Castiel growled low in his throat, hitching his shoulder right next to Dean's leg. "It doesn't bother you, does it? I'll stop if you want me to, but it's just so nice."

"No, you're fine, _sha_," Dean said softly. He tentatively reached down and ran his fingers though Castiel's hair, before reaching back to shift gears on his car. He had to almost wrap his arm around Castiel's shoulders to reach for the stick shift, and Castiel put his head further up Dean's legs so it wouldn't be so awkward for him. Dean's hand returned to Castiel's hair as he drove them home, his fingers smoothing the errant strands, his fingernails lightly running against Castiel's scalp. It felt so good that Castiel felt himself falling asleep, his eyes closing in peace.

He woke up, realizing that the car hadn't been moving for a while, and he blinked up into Dean's green eyes, reflecting the moonlight outside of the garage. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep on you and drool all over your leg…" Castiel started trying to wipe up the tiny puddle that had accumulated on Dean's leg, but Dean just laughed and put his hand over Castiel's.

"It's cloth, Cas. Y'ain't gonna wipe spit up from cloth," Dean said, smiling at Castiel to let him know that there were no hard feelings.

It had started raining while they were sitting in the car, so they had to make a run for the house. Everyone was already in bed, so they tried not to giggle too loudly as they ran up the back stairs and tiptoed into Castiel's room, because it was closer than Dean's.

They got ready for bed, and sat in the bathroom together for a while, reluctant to part ways, even if it was only a few feet away from each other. "Well, goodnight, Dean. Thanks for watching out for me."

"Goodnight, _sha_," Dean said softly.

Castiel forced himself to walk away from Dean, and went to lie in his bed. The rain fell softly against his bedroom window, but he wasn't tired thanks to the nap that he had taken in the car. He listened to the wind blowing through the trees outside, and he could hear Dean in his room, turning over in his bed.

He was so glad that Dean was his friend. He had never admired anyone more than Dean, and the fact that he seemed to like Castiel back put a warm feeling in his stomach. He smiled, feeling a kind of pride that Dean wanted to be his friend, and taught him how to shoot, and took care of him even after he did something stupid like drink that green absinthe that Meg had offered him.

Castiel wondered what it was exactly that Dean killed, realizing that he had gotten distracted by something while they were talking about it. He couldn't remember what it was, but he was sure that it had been something important. While he was trying to remember, he heard a strange sound coming from Dean's room. He thought he heard Dean calling his name, softly, like he was in pain.

Castiel snuck out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, peeking through the open door into Dean's room to see if he was okay.

Dean was laying on his bed, his eyes closed, and his fist was sliding up and down his erection. His head was thrown back and his fingers on his other hand were pinching his nipples and then sliding down his belly, cupping his balls. Castiel could see everything because Dean's legs were parted, relaxed even as the rest of Dean's body was slowly tensing up. Dean's skin shone in the moonlight, seeping through the clouds into Dean's bedroom like it couldn't bear to not touch Dean's skin. Castiel understood the moon at that point, understood and was jealous that it could do what he could not. Understanding did not diminish the jealousy, and at that point he hated the moon with all of his being.

Castiel felt his face turning red, made himself turn away and go back to his own bed with his own erection. He couldn't figure out why it had turned him on, seeing Dean like that. He wanted to go crawl into bed with Dean, wanted to watch his face, wanted to slide his own hand up and down Dean's prick. He wondered what Dean would say about that, and he wondered if Dean would do the same to him.

The thought of Dean wanting to touch him like he was touching himself had Castiel's hand reaching down, sliding past the elastic of his underwear, gripping the warm and slightly sweaty erection in his hand. His fingers trembled, thinking of Dean laying naked in the room next to him. He pulled his hand out quickly, licking one long stripe of saliva down his palm and then sliding it back into his pants. He stroked himself, biting his lower lip so that Dean couldn't hear him.

For the first time in his life, he wished that he was a girl. He wished that he could marry Dean so that they could do what married people did, wished that he could have Dean's children. He remembered the way it felt in Dean's arms, the strength that he so easily displayed as he moved Castiel's body around earlier that day. He wished he would just come into Castiel's room and he really wanted to feel Dean's lips pressed against his own.

The thought of kissing Dean, the sight of Dean masturbating in the room next door, the memory of Dean's arms had Castiel tingling, arching his back as he came all over his hand. It felt so good and so perfect that Castiel lay there afterwards listening to the rain, shocked at himself.

Did men feel this way? Was it possible for two men to care about each other and want each other in this fashion? Castiel had never heard of something like that happening, maybe he was sick inside of his head. He knew that men could have close friendships, but to touch each other like men touched women?

The rain came down in gentle droves, and Castiel cleaned himself off with a tissue before shutting his eyes. He thought that he could find a book somewhere that would answer his questions, because he sure as Hell didn't have enough guts to ask Dean. What if Dean stopped liking him if he found out that Castiel thought of him like that? That would be horrifying. Dean was his first friend, his only friend. He needed Dean more than anything, and the thought of being separated from him pushed waves of fear through his body. He decided that he would never do anything that would jeopardize his relationship with Dean, even if that meant that he had to hide how he felt from Dean forever.


	6. Chapter 6

Church wasn't quite the same as up North. There was only one Church in the whole Parish, so Castiel was shocked to see that blacks and whites attended together. The music was a lot better, it was gospel music and it wasn't as stiff and formal as up North. Apparently, the Church had not yet been able to afford a piano, and so the banjo, guitar, and violin accompanied the singing.

It was hard to concentrate on the sermon for Castiel. The myriad of colors from all of the women's hats kept distracting him. They put things in their hats too; feathers and flowers and beads and ribbons. To be honest, that wasn't what kept drawing his eye though. Dean had put on a suit. They all were wearing suits, but Castiel only really noticed Dean. It made his shoulders broader and it hid the muscles in his arms, but Castiel knew what they looked like, knew what they felt like, and it was impossible to not remember that while they were sitting next to each other.

Dean drove them all home, and their mothers chatted quietly in the backseat with Uriel and Raphael while Castiel was stuck between Dean and Sam. It was comfortable, and Castiel was glad that that he had an excuse to sit so close to Dean.

They quickly changed their clothing and ate Sunday lunch, something that Anna had prepared just for Mrs. Novak. It was a strange take on roast beef and potatoes and carrots (Anna had put almonds in with the carrots and she had left some of the peels on the potatoes), but it was still really good.

The women disappeared somewhere in the house, and Sam and Raphael went out back to play a little basketball to spend away the afternoon hours.

"Show me this hidden room," Dean told Castiel, not making eye contact. "I want to know what you're talking about."

Castiel led him to Dean's father's office and moved the book that he had found. Dean walked into the room after flicking the lightswitch, and he was shocked at the books that had been stockpiled.

"Why wouldn't your father tell you about this?" Castiel asked him.

"I don't think that he thought we could take his place while he was gone. He's been away for five years though, so I think that he had planned to pull us in when he got back." Dean was still avoiding eye contact with Castiel, and he was starting to take it personally.

"So," Castiel pulled out a compendium on zombies, written in Creole, "this is what you kill?"

"Zombies, werewolves, ghosts," Dean shrugged. "Whatever thinks that it needs to hurt people 'round here."

"So you've seen them?" Castiel asked him, wishing Dean would look him in the eyes again. He stared at Dean's eyes, but they kept skimming over the bookshelves.

"Yeah, God, I wish that Sam and I could have known about this when we were out huntin'. This could have been a lot of help for us. Wait here, I'm gonna go get him and my cousin," Dean said.

Castiel felt his heart sink a little. He wanted this room to be a secret that he shared with Dean, but he didn't protest as Dean left to get his younger brother and his cousin. It was probably for the best, anyway.

Sam and Raphael came back in with Dean not five minutes later. They were sweating in their undershirts, and Castiel held back on asking if he could have one of those sleeveless garmets. He really wanted one, and he figured he would mention it to his mother when she bought him more clothing.

The other boys started pulling books off the shelves, trying to read everything that they could get their hands on. Castiel suggested that they move out into their father's office, where they would have more room to spread out, and they all thought this was a good idea.

The four of them passed books back and forth, and Castiel had to try to remember the scant lessons he had in reading Russian from his mother with some of the books. He found a few passages that looked interesting, but most of the time was spent on the English books with descriptions and weaknesses of the monsters that Dean said he hunted.

Castiel could almost believe that the entire thing was make-believe, except for how serious the other three boys got when one of them would point out a new theory on how to harm something supernatural. It was getting a little unnverving, thinking about the fact that everything that they were reading about was real.

Mrs. Winchester found them around two o'clock in the afternoon. She brought them snacks, and looked shocked that Castiel had found something in her house that she didn't even know existed. It made Castiel wonder why Mr. Winchester had kept such a thing a secret, even from his wife. It seemed to him that these creatures were dangerous, why wouldn't he want his family as safe as possible from them?

It was around three o'clock that the Uriel came to get them. "Dean, Mrs. Rousseau is waiting in the formal parlor for you," he said, with a concerned look in his eye.

"Mrs. Rousseau from New Orleans?" Sam asked, his eyebrows shooting almost straight up into his hairline.

"Yes," Uriel said. "Raphael, you might want to stay behind with me."

"Raphael can come with us," Dean said, scowling.

"I want Raphael to stay behind with me," Uriel amended his statement.

Dean scowled, but he led Sam and Castiel into the formal parlor, a room that Castiel hadn't been in before. The room was filled with marble statues and classic paintings, there were fresh flowers and the furniture was beautiful and uncomfortable.

Mrs. Rousseau was almost the same age as Mrs. Novak, very young and very beautiful. She was dressed in all black; her hair and eyes were the same color black and her skin was pale and milky smooth. She had perfect manners, her back was straight as she sat on the edge of the seat, her ankles crossed primly under her long dress that was probably the height of fashion in Paris. She stirred her tea slowly, and the spoon never touched the edges of the china to make the clinking sound. Castiel tried not to stare at her but it was hard. She seemed otherworldly. He had dealt with a lot of rich people up North, but he had a feeling that Mrs. Rousseau would stand out even there.

Mrs. Rousseau appraised Dean and ignored Castiel and Sam. Her eyes slid up and down Dean's body like she was interested in purchasing him, lingering on his shoulders and his hips, and then sliding back up to stare into his eyes. Castiel felt dirty after they eye fucking she had just given Dean, but Dean seemed to take it in stride, sitting down in a spindly looking chair across from her.

"Mrs. Rousseau," Dean greeted her. "What gives us the pleasure of your company?"

Mrs. Rousseau scowled into her tea cup for a moment, and Castiel suspected that she was displeased with something that Dean did but couldn't bring herself to bring it up. "My husband wishes to procure your services, Mr. Winchester."

"What services would that be, that would bring you all the way from New Orleans?" Dean asked.

Mrs. Rousseau looked embarrassed and irritated all at the same time. "Plumbing," she said lamely, "We are having issues with… plumbing, and everyone says that the Winchester boys are the only ones who can handle this particular type of… plumbing."

"Ma'am," Dean said, a little confused, "We don't do plumbing."

"You'll be compensated for your troubles," Mrs. Rousseau said. "I would put you and your brother up for the night in my house, and we will pay you in silver, which I believe is the traditional currency for plumbers of your particular talents. I can also offer you information on the one named Azazel, as my father kept a journal of his exploits the last time he was in New Orleans."

"Sure, I can go be a plumber," Dean said, a smirk on his mouth and a light in his green eyes.

Sam seemed to have a little different opinion. "How many… plumbing problems are we talking about here?" he asked, concerned.

"There have been three… plumbing problems that my help have reported repeatedly. Mostly around the third floor nursery, which I am sure that you are aware would be a severe… problem, if my husband gets his wish and I am finally pregnant…" Mrs. Rousseau didn't seem to be overly fond of the thought of getting pregnant, but she had the expression that one would do it if they had to as if it were simply another duty of being a married woman.

Sam nodded his head. "Fine, we'll follow you back into New Orleans in our car."

"Just the three of you, right?" Mrs. Rousseau looked worried for the first time, but she was staring at Dean, Castiel, and Sam. "You know my husband has a… certain reputation in this community."

"I know your husband's reputation, Mrs. Rousseau," Sam said. "It will be just the three of us, don't worry."

Mrs. Rousseau nodded her head. "Thank you, boys. Oh, and if he asks…"

"We're there about the plumbing," Sam finished her sentence. "You might want to tell your husband that we're the Novak brothers?"

"Thank you," Mrs. Rousseau said again. She stood up, her figure tall and perfect and regal, and the three boys followed her out of the house and into Dean's car, straight behind her Cadillac.

"Why can't Raphael go with us?" Castiel asked, "And what do you know about plumbing?"

"It has nothing to do with plumbing," Sam explained. "She wants us to hunt some ghosts for her."

"What?" Castiel asked again. "How did you get ghosts from…?"

"She offered to pay us in silver," Dean said, "And she wants to give us information that we have been looking for. Plus, everyone knows if old man Rousseau's nephew gets any wind that she is mentally incompetent or that she refused Mr. Rousseau anything at all, she doesn't get a penny of inheritance once he is gone."

"So, what kind of reputation does Mr. Rousseau have?" Castiel wasn't sure that he was ready to believe that they were about to go on a ghost hunt.

"Mr. Rousseau believes that he should still be allowed to have slaves, like his parents did. He's a high ranking member of the Ku Klux Klan," Sam said.

"The people who hate black people?"

"Yes," Dean said. "Mrs. Rousseau was worried about Raphael's safety, as Mr. Rousseau is really a mean and horrible man."

"His parents owned slaves? That was almost seventy years ago," Castiel's forehead wrinkled. "He would have to be…"

"Mr. Rousseau is almost eighty years old," Dean said.

"But she was younger than my mother!" Castiel exclaimed.

"It was a marriage arranged by Mr. Rousseau. Everyone knows about it. Mr. Roussea tricked her daddy and was about to claim the little farm her family lived on if she didn't marry him, and Mrs. Rousseau is famous for her loyalty to her family. Everyone knows that she's just waiting for him to kick the bucket, but until then she does her duty."

Castiel felt a little sick at the thought of a woman like Mrs. Rousseau married to an old man. He hated the thought of an old racist man trying to get a beautiful woman like Mrs. Rousseau pregnant.

The Rousseau mansion was situated in the Garden District of New Orleans. Castiel stared out the window as rows of mansions appeared before him, surrounded by gardens and wrought iron gates. Mrs. Rousseau's Cadillac pulled into a driveway leading to a pale blue mansion with white trim and white metal balconies hanging off its sides. It gave Castiel the impression of parts of the house trying to escape it, somehow.

Castiel couldn't help but touch the metal, shaped like angels hiding among pineapples. He knew from working in older houses that they were prayers for fertility, and his stomach turned a little again at the thought of Mrs. Rousseau and the old man she was married to.

They were let into the house by pinch faced servants, all of them black and none of them mixed, as far as Castiel could tell. They were all thin, like they were very stressed all the time. Castiel saw some of them recognized Dean and Sam, and the look of relief on their faces was terrifying in itself.

"These are the Novak boys," Mrs. Rousseau announced to her butler. "They're here to see about the plumbing problem on the third floor."

"Yes'm," the butler agreed with her immediately, and Castiel understood that every single servant would swear that there were three boys named Novak who came to check on the plumbing problem on the third floor to their dying day. It was a very strange feeling, and it made him wonder just exactly what kind of woman could handle living in the web of lies that her life surely was every single day of her life.

"Most of my help will not go to the third floor… the problems with the plumbing is rather off-putting to them. Do you mind going up there alone, or would you like for me to accompany you?" Mrs. Rousseau was obviously terrified of going to the third floor, but she would do it if Dean told her to.

"No ma'am," Dean said respectfully. "I think we can handle a little plumbing problem by ourselves. If you hear anything strange, it might be a pipe that is giving us a hard time, so don't come running until we tell you everything is okay."

"Thank the Lord," one of the parlor maids said, and she clapped a hand over her mouth and hurried out of the entry way.

"Horace," Mrs. Rousseau said, taking off her gloves and laying them on a silver dish on the cabinet in the entry way. "Why don't you play some nice music to give the boys something to listen to while they're working? It might make some of the noises upstairs go away for a little while."

"Yes'm," the butler said. As he walked past Dean, his hand shot out and dropped a small calico wrapped bundle into Dean's pocket. Castiel knew that Dean had seen it and he ignored it as he hoisted a leather bag up on his shoulder, turning to face the stairs at the end of the entry way.

Sam and Castiel followed Dean up the stairs, and Castiel was surprised that the temperature in the house dropped as they climbed the stairs. Usually, the upper floors of the house were incredibly hot in the summer, but this house didn't seem to follow those rules.

"What's in your pocket?" Castiel whispered into Dean's ear as they got to the third floor.

"It's a _gris-gris_ bag," Dean whispered back after a momentary pause. "Horace meant it as protection."

Castiel was surprised, but he was distracted as he thought he saw something skitter out of the corner of his eye down the hall. "What was that?" he asked.

"The plumbing problem," Dean answered. "They usually don't show themselves so easy."

The hallway was dusty, coated in coal soot from the fireplaces. It wasn't well lit, except for an extremely expensive stained glass window at the end of the hall. Castiel could see the dust floating in the air, and suddenly it was so cold that all three of them could see their breath in front of their faces.

Dean pressed something into Castiel's hand, and Castiel was shocked to see a collapsible iron fireplace poker that Dean had pulled out of his bag. "They don't like iron," Dean explained.

Dean and Sam both had the same sort of iron rods in their hands, too. Castiel swallowed, and followed in Dean's footsteps. His brain was still protesting that none of this was real, and he wondered if this wasn't another one of the weird dreams he had been having since he had moved into the Winchester's home. Seeing as how Dean wasn't naked and writhing underneath him, he kind of figured that if it was a dream, it wasn't anything that he was going to enjoy.

Castiel heard a little girl's voice, coming from one of the rooms. She was singing, or giggling; Castiel wasn't sure what the noise was. He looked at Dean, who hadn't seemed to hear it at all. "You didn't hear that?"

"Hear what?" Sam asked him.

"The little girl in that room?" Castiel asked.

"Shit," Dean said. "Let's go," and he poked the door open with his metal rod.

The room was painted a pale pink underneath the coal soot. There was a crib in a corner, white lace hanging from the canopy above it. There was a rocking horse painted a cheerful pink and white in the other corner, and a white dresser alongside one wall. Castiel opened the wardrobe across from the dresser, and inside were tiny little pink and yellow and white dresses, all in fashion from about twenty years ago.

"What is this? I thought old man Rousseau didn't have any children?" Castiel asked.

"I have no idea, this is weird," Dean said. Sam shrugged along with Dean's assessment.

Castiel heard the giggle again from behind him. "Come play with me," a little girl whispered, but Castiel couldn't see her.

"Did you hear that?" Castiel asked, and he took a deep breath, swallowing.

"What?" Dean asked again, looking around the room.

"She wants me to come play with her," Castiel's voice was shaking now, because he was getting scared.

"Why is she only talking to Castiel?" Sam asked.

"Do you wish your daddy would come and take you home?" the little girl whispered directly into Castiel's ear. "I wish my daddy would come get me. Don't worry, you will like it here, all of the other children do."

"She wants her daddy," Castiel whispered. "She's waiting for her daddy to come get her," Castiel looked directly into Dean's eyes then. "She told me that I'll enjoy it here, with all of the other children."

"Fuck," Dean cussed, then he looked into the room, "You can't have him, he's ours. Why don't you tell us why you're still here?"

The little girl appeared in the middle of the room with a stormy look on her face, long black hair in ringlets cascading down her back. "He's one of us, he has to stay here with us," she announced. "He's ours."

"He's ours," Sam said. "You can't have him."

The little girl screamed at the top of her lungs, a shrill blood-curdling scream that caused all three of the boys to drop their pokers and put their hands over their ears. She disappeared with a pop, and then the room got very cold again. The furniture started shaking, and in the mirror above the dresser three children's faces appeared behind where the boys were standing. They looked very angry, but when they made eye contact with Castiel they looked like they were sorry for him before they glared at Dean and Sam again.

"Ghosts," Dean said as soon as they disappeared. "Looks like we're going to have to light a fire tonight, Sam."


	7. Chapter 7

They were back out into the hall, studying the other doorways. "I kind of want Cas out of here," Dean said to Sam.

"Hey, I can help, I can see them and you can't," Castiel protested his separation from Dean.

"They want you, and I'm not comfortable with that," Dean said. His eyes bored holes into Castiel's.

"I'll be okay," Castiel assured Dean, touching his shoulder with what he hoped was a reassuring hand.

Sam rolled his eyes at Castiel and Dean staring at each other, and mimicked knocking their heads together before he moved into the next room.

It was still a little girl's room, only this time done in yellow and daisies. There was clothing and lots and lots of books. Apparently this child liked fairy tales better than dolls, and the room had been done according to her wishes. The fashion of the clothing was a little more recent than the room next door, and Castiel vaguely recognized some of the style from the photographs that of when his mother was a child. The children weren't visiting them in this room though, so they moved on to the next room.

It was an old bathroom, with a clawfoot tub and a gravity toilet with a pull chain hanging from the ceiling. The bathroom window was smashed and laying in jagged pieces on the white tile floor. Again, nothing that could lead to ghostly activity, so the boys left.

"Should we split up?" Sam asked, "Maybe they don't like us all together. They could be intimidated."

"No," Dean said, "this is Cas's first time, we can't leave him alone."

"Fine, you stick with Cas, and I'm going to go check out if there is an attic. I'll go downstairs and ask a few questions, okay?"

"Ask the servants, not Mrs. Rousseau. We can't get her into trouble, right?" Dean said.

Castiel felt his heartbeat speeding up at the thought of being alone with Dean, but he kept his mouth shut. It was a distraction that they probably didn't need to address while there were dead people all around them like this.

All of the rooms were little girl's rooms, as Castiel and Dean found out. Also, all of the girls had apparently died before they hit puberty, if their clothing and the objects that were scattered around their rooms were any indication. Castiel was starting to get a very bad feeling in his stomach, thoughts of what could have been done to little girls whose daddy's didn't know where they were, and he didn't want to share it with Dean. He didn't want anyone to know that there were thoughts like that inside of his head, that he knew that people were capable of things like that.

"Dean," Castiel swallowed his fear, "Dean, I think old man Rousseau kidnapped a bunch of little girls and then killed them before they had a chance to become women."

"I think you're right, Cas," Dean said as if what he had just said wasn't absolutely horrifying.

"Dean, I almost want to let them keep haunting this house," Castiel said, touching Dean's arm again. "You know the police won't be able to do anything against a rich man like this."

"The problem with that Cas, is that soon they won't be able to differentiate between the perpetrator of their torture and other victims of this house. Ghosts can't keep it together like that, _sha_," Dean said.

Castiel nodded his head, and he went into the next room, decorated in light blues and lavenders. He opened the wardrobe, and the dresses hanging in there were the oldest fashion he had seen, looking like pictures from the early '20s. He was staring when he felt a hand pushing him into the wardrobe. He pitched forward, and the door was slammed shut behind him.

"Stay with us," a little girl's voice said. "Stay with us forever, we can wait for our daddies to come get us together."

"Dean!" Castiel yelled, pounding on the back of the wardrobe door. "Dean, I'm in here!"

He kicked the wardrobe door, but it wouldn't budge. He beat against it with his hands, but he felt those hands crawling all over his body, pulling him further back into the wardrobe. "Stay," the voice said, and those hands smoothed their way up Castiel's body, caressing his neck and tugging lightly on his hair. "Stay and make me happy. Be a good boy," the girl giggled into his ear.

"Dean!" Castiel fought against panic, "Dean!"

Dean opened the door from the other side, his green eyes wide and angry. "Cas," Dean gasped before he was shoved into the wardrobe, too.

"Oh, they're both so pretty," the girl's voice said before it faded away.

Castiel and Dean were stuck in the wardrobe, trying to move around each other to kick at the door. Dean's feet moved, tripping Castiel and making him fall into Dean's arms.

In the dim light seeping through the seams of the wardrobe door, Castiel looked up into Dean's eyes. His face was so close that he could see golden flecks in them, and their mouths hovered next to each other. Castiel stared at Dean's lips, and he looked up into his eyes to see that the black of Dean's eyes had almost swallowed the green iris surrounding it, and Castiel swallowed. "Dean," Castiel whispered, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were stuck in a wardrobe, held hostage by some pre-pubescent ghost girls.

Castiel felt Dean's breath against his lips, felt Dean's chest pressed firmly against his own, and Dean's arms wrapping around his body to hold him steady.

"I'll let you out of you give me a kiss," Dean said, but it wasn't his voice. Dean's hands slid down Castiel's back, warm and strong. They glided over the muscles in his back and traced the valley above his ass, coming to rest on Castiel's butt, cupping his cheeks and pulling him in tighter against Dean's erection.

Both of them had an erection, Castiel gasped to find out. It felt amazing, to press his against Dean's, and he wanted to strip his pants off so he could feel the heat of Dean's desire against his own. He wanted to rub them together, but he blinked a few times and took a deep breath.

"Dean is my friend," Castiel said to address the ghost girl whose voice had just come out of Dean's mouth.

"I never got to kiss anyone as pretty as you before," the girl's voice giggled out of Dean's mouth. "Just kiss me once, and I'll let you out of the wardrobe."

"I don't know how," Castiel whispered.

"I'm not asking you to do something you don't want to do, obviously," the little girl reasoned with him.

"I don't think Dean wants this," Castiel said.

"Kiss me, I want it," the girl deepened her voice. Castiel knew it wasn't Dean, but the temptation to kiss him combined with the fact that he wanted out of the closet was too much.

Castiel gently laid his lips against Dean's, and then it was like Dean's body came to life beneath him. One of Dean's hands from Castiel's ass reached up and buried itself in Castiel's hair, pulling his mouth closer as Dean's mouth opened underneath Castiel's. Dean's tongue swept out and licked Castiel's upper lip, and Castiel pushed his body closer into Dean's so that he could open his mouth, too. It felt so good to rub his body against Dean's like that he did it again, pushing with the balls of his feet and straightening his knees to get just a little more friction against Dean.

Castiel was balancing his weight on his hands, pressed up against the wall of the wardrobe. He wanted to touch Dean, but he figured that wouldn't go over to well with Dean once the ghost girl stopped inhabiting his body. Dean's hands were all over Castiel, though, and their mouths slowly tasted each other, their lips glided against each other, and Castiel whimpered. He knew it was the ghost girl, but it was still Dean, and it was Dean's mouth making him so hard he could feel a drop of desire sliding down his erection. Castiel's body was moving against Dean's with some sort of instinctual knowledge and they frotted against each other.

Their kiss slowly became sloppy and Castiel had to stop for a fraction of a second to swallow, but Dean's hand pulled him back for another kiss, another taste. His hands smoothed down Castiel's thighs, and they tugged them around his waist, pulling them closer, spreading back up and cupping his ass in their warm strength. Castiel felt one of Dean's fingers sliding down into his pants, tracing the crease before sliding between his cheeks, running up and down before they stopped right at his anus, tracing around the hole with dark promise.

Castiel went willingly, not knowing if he would ever have reason to do this again, this time putting all his weight on his right arm so he could trail his left hand down Dean's cheek, tracing his jaw line and pulling his neck so that their kiss was deeper. "Dean," Castiel said softly, his voice husky and deep. Dean's eyes flew open, staring at Castiel with such desire that it made his stomach flip, and Castiel leaned back in for another kiss.

Sam opened the door to the wardrobe, staring for a second at his brother and new housemate. "Y'all, you're under some sort of spell," he said, pulling them out of the wardrobe and separating them.

Castiel turned around to look out the balcony doors, trying to hide how much he had enjoyed that. If this was what ghost hunting was, he was going to do it forever, and he was going to get stuck with Dean in small tight spaces no matter where they went next time, if he had any say about it. "There was a ghost," Castiel heard Dean saying. "She took over my body, and told Castiel that she wouldn't let us out if we didn't kiss."

"Damn, that was a little more than kissing," Sam said, laughing at his brother. "So these ghosts still seem to have a crush on Castiel?"

"Looks like," Dean said, and Castiel forced himself to turn around, his face blank as Dean studied him.

"How do we get rid of ghosts?" Castiel asked.

"We have to find the bodies and burn them," Sam said.

Castiel nodded. "Where do we begin looking for the bodies?"

"He wouldn't have been able to use any of the cemeteries, it would bring out what he was doing into the open. They have to be here in this house," Dean said, not looking at Castiel.

Castiel nodded, and then he began going over the floor plans to what he had seen in the house in his head. He measured the distances between the walls and the hallways, the layouts of the windows and the doorway, his memory sorting through the spacing of the rooms and the walls. "There's something that doesn't make sense between the green room and the blue room," Castiel said. "There's space that isn't accounted for."

Dean and Sam looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and they followed Castiel back into the green bedroom. Castiel studied the wall and the wainscoting, stared at the decorative molding. "There," Castiel pointed to a flower on the edge of the molding. "Get me a chair," he requested, not taking his eyes off of the flower.

The center of it had slight shadowing that the other flowers didn't have, and Castiel pressed it. A section of wall on the other end away from Castiel swung out, and Castiel was knocked off of his chair into Sam's arms, this time.

Sam put him on the ground, swinging at five ghost girls with his iron rod, and they vanished into the air before reappearing next to Dean.

Castiel admired the way that Dean's arms strained as he swung his iron rod through the center of the girls, but he wasn't distracted enough to not run into the hidden room. There, stacked neatly in the walls, were the rotted corpses of eight girls. "You might want to start that fire," Castiel called out as he began dragging them into the middle of the nursery.

Sam gagged a little before he started helping Castiel with the moving, and Dean spent his time between lighting a fire in the fireplace and randomly attacking ghost girls, who were shouting at Castiel to stay with them in between telling Sam to get away. They tormented them, scratching at their skin and pulling at their clothing, sometimes tearing holes into the cloth.

Castiel was sans a sleeve and had a rip against the thigh of his pants by the time he had all of the bodies out from the wall. The girls were hollering against their actions, but then Dean had the fire going and they started feeding their bodies to the flames.

The smell was horrible to Castiel, and he gagged a little before Dean tied a bandana over his nose and mouth to filter out the worst of the smell. Dean gave him a look that Castiel couldn't interpret before they went back to burning bodies.

They walked down the stairs, bloody and dirty by the time it was finished. It didn't take nearly as long as Castiel thought it would. Dean thanked Mrs. Rousseau for her hospitality, but declined the offer to shelter them for the night. He said they had school in the morning, but Castiel suspected that this wasn't the truth.

They climbed into the car, and Sam fell into the back seat, spreading his huge body out and it didn't take any time before Castiel realized that the giant of a boy was sleeping.

That left him alone in the front with Dean, and Castiel's palms sweated, thinking about what they had done, or what he had done to Dean, and he closed his eyes tightly against the dreaded thought that Dean would no longer want to be friends with him now that he knew that Castiel was more than ready to molest him at a moment's opportunity.

Castiel swallowed a couple of times, but then he found he didn't have to say anything as Dean pulled into a gas station and got out of his car. He returned with some glass bottles of Coke, dripping with condensation.

"Dean, I should apologize…"

"Sometimes things happen," Dean interrupted him. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"But Dean, I… I molested you."

"Yeah," Dean said nervously, clearing his throat. "Sometimes things happen," he repeated, tugging at his earlobe a little bit.

"I didn't know that little girl was going to turn the kiss into something like that," Castiel said. "I thought it was just going to be a quick press of our lips together…"

"Little ghost girls are devious that way," Dean said, and Castiel wondered why he sounded so nervous about it. He must have been really uncomfortable with the situation, to not want to talk about it like that.

"Thank you for understanding," Castiel said, reaching over to squeeze Dean's hand on the stick shift between them. "That is really kind of you."

Dean's face turned red, and he pressed his lips together. "Cas," he said, taking a deep breath.

"What made a little girl know how to move like that?" Castiel asked, interrupting Dean's comment. "I didn't even know half of the stuff she was doing…"

"Cas…" Dean started his comment again.

"I'm glad it was you, though," Castiel said. "It would have been weird if it was Sam."

Dean was quiet. "I'm glad it was you, too. It would have been really weird if it was Sam."

Castiel smiled. "It would have been terrible if you had to kiss your brother like that."

Dean didn't say anything, but he took a drink of his Coke. They finished the rest of the drive in silence, and Castiel fell asleep curled up against the door of the car.

They got into the house, quietly so they wouldn't wake their mothers. Raphael wanted all the details, and he and Sam walked down the hallway to their rooms while Dean and Castiel walked to theirs.

"Goodnight, Castiel," Dean said softly before he went into his room.

Dean saying Castiel's whole name felt so intimate that Castiel gasped. "Goodnight, Dean."

Castiel took a quick shower before changing into his night clothes, and he lay down on his bed so that he could think about what he and Dean had done in the wardrobe. It softened the shock he felt about seeing ghosts, and it was more pleasant to him than concentrating on how that ghost girl's hands had felt on him. They had been so cold compared to Dean's hands, cold and very unpleasant.

Castiel jumped at the sound of the house settling, and he decided to admit that he was scared. He didn't want to be away from Dean, and the memories of Dean were actually making it worse to fend off the images of the little ghost girls in his head. He got out of bed and quietly walked into Dean's room.

"Cas?" Dean asked from his bed, half asleep.

"Can I sleep with you tonight? I'm scared," Castiel whispered.

Dean stared at him for a moment before pulling back the covers of his bed, allowing Castiel to climb in and snuggle against him. Dean's bed wasn't very big so by necessity they had to sleep close, and Castiel was grateful for it. He closed his eyes and was instantly drifting off, kept safe by Dean's arms and the memories silenced against the steady beat of Dean's heart.

"It wasn't the ghost," Castiel thought he heard Dean whisper to him. "She left the first moment we kissed."

Castiel smiled into Dean's chest, thinking that if Dean was actually saying that and it wasn't a dream then his life would be perfectly happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for all the encouraging comments, y'all! I really appreciate you takin' time out of your schedules to leave me notes like that. It makes me feel all warm and bubbly inside! **

To Castiel, puzzles were stupid. Figuring out where things went, figuring out what shape needed to be placed where, it was as easy as cleaning his room. It made no bit of difference to Castiel if the puzzle's picture was right side up or how many pieces there were, he could solve them upside down in the same amount of time. The only factor that limited the time he took to finish them was if he had an audience or not. He hated going through them so quickly when people were watching, because they always acted like he had done something amazing when all he had done was solve the puzzle.

Games were the same way. Castiel would have to choose if he was going to win or lose and how long he had to pull that off, depending on if he liked the person he was playing against or not. He hated losing, but he hated winning even more because the other person hated losing and Castiel could see every mistake they were making and it hurt to not tell them. Games were a lose-lose situation for him, so he normally didn't ever play them.

So this situation, waking up in Dean's arms in Dean's bed, wasn't something that he was particularly fond of. It was a puzzle. There were pieces there, but Castiel thought that he was missing some of the most important ones.

Castiel observed that Dean's arms circled his chest, Dean's chest was pressed into Castiel's back, and Dean's leg was thrown over his hip, pinning him to the bed. It was a good feeling, to have Dean all over him like this, and Castiel relaxed back into Dean's body like it was his blanket.

It felt good, Dean's breath on his naked neck. Castiel was glad that he had chosen not to wear a shirt to bed, because the hairs on Dean's arm abraided his nipples in pleasant sensations. Castiel backed up a little so that he wouldn't rub himself on Dean's arms, but his backside came into contact with Dean's erection.

Dean was asleep, Castiel knew. He was frozen on Dean's bed, and he wasn't sure what he should do; if he should move, if he should wake Dean up, if he should try and slip his way out of Dean's arms, if he should reach down and touch…

Castiel knew it wasn't that. Whatever else was going on, he knew that it wasn't that. So he pulled together all the self-control that he had left and slipped out of Dean's bed. He padded barefoot to his own room and got ready for school, not bothering to wake Dean up lest he read the confusion on Castiel's face.

There was food and Miss Anna talked to him a little, but his brain wasn't there at all. It was stuck on a repeating loop of that dream he had last night, where Dean told him that he wasn't possessed by a perverted pre-adolescent girl when his hands had been running all over Castiel's body. The dream had felt so real, but Castiel knew it wasn't. Things in his life didn't work that way. He had never been able to have anything he wanted, and to allow himself to hope for it this time could quite possibly kill him.

Dean came down the steps with Sam and Raphael, joking about something if the way they were laughing was any indication. Castiel didn't want to try and solve that puzzle, so he sat quietly while everyone else started eating, too.

School was more of the same nonsense. Because his first week had gone so well, and the teachers knew what to expect of him, they gave him all of his work at the beginning of the day and then let him spend his time talking with other teachers who would periodically have breaks during the day. They tutored him on things they remembered from college, and Castiel was most interested in the teachers who remembered their math classes.

Math was still fun. It was simple, and it had answers as long as Castiel tried to find them. It was the only thing that always made sense, no matter where he was. So it was in the library where Castiel was by himself playing with one of the teacher's college trigonometry books that he found himself being stared at by what had to be one of the elementary students.

She had huge brown eyes and thin black hair being held in a lopsided ponytail by a faded pink ribbon. She stood right next to the chair Castiel was sitting in, staring at him. Castiel knew that she wasn't black, but he didn't think that she was of Northern European descent, either.

"Hi," Castiel said, trying to figure out just what was going on.

"Are you a Cassock?" the little girl asked in a thick, Eastern European accent.

"No," Castiel said. Cassocks were the royal guards who protected the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia, before the 1917 Revolution.

"My mommy said you looked like a Cassock. She said that was why the Winchesters took you in, because they needed someone who fought like a Cassock."

"I'm not a Cassock," Castiel repeated himself, frowning. He realized after a minute that the little girl had been speaking to him in Russian, because the other students were staring at them now. That was a little embarrassing. "I'm not a Cassock," he repeated in English.

The little girl's finger pointed at his eye. "Mommy said only Cassocks had eyes like yours. Like they're supposed to be Asian, but they're blue."

"I'm not…" Castiel sighed, and then he turned back to his trig book. The little girl wasn't going to listen anyway.

"I'm Natalia," the little girl climbed into the chair next to Castiel's. She was still speaking in Russian, and she pulled out some school work. "My mommy came to America with my brothers and me, and now we have to learn how to speak English. It's a completely silly language, if you ask me."

Castiel decided to ignore her.

"I met a real Cassock once, when we lived in Russia. He was scary, I met him in prison when I was visiting my daddy. Is that why you say you're not a Cassock? Because you're hiding?"

"I'm not hiding," Castiel said.

"Oh, I just thought that you might be. Why else would you come to the middle of nowhere? Mommy said that even the Mafia comes here to hide. She said they mostly go north, to Arkansas, though. Are you in the Mafia?" Natalia kept asking questions.

Castiel didn't answer. "Why was your daddy in prison?"

"He wrote mean words about Comrade… Mr. Stalin. I'm not supposed to say 'comrade' in America, am I?"

Castiel didn't answer her question. It turned out, it didn't matter. Natalia kept asking questions, and Castiel kept ignoring her. He glanced over at her paper and corrected some of her spelling in Russian, and eventually wrote down what she was writing in English. He wasn't listening to her, but she didn't seem to mind. She just kept talking away, and Castiel realized that she must be lonely, and that she didn't know enough English to make friends her own age.

"Why don't you invite your mother to come visit with my mother?" Castiel finally asked her. "I'm sure they would love to spend time with someone from the Mother Country."

The little girl's eyes lit up. "Okay," she gushed, "I'll tell mommy that she can come see your mommy. It will make her so happy; I know that she's sad because she can't talk to anyone here." Natalia threw her little arms around Castiel's neck and kissed his cheek.

Of course they were interrupted by Dean, who had just walked into the library and was smiling at them. "Who's your new girlfriend, Cas?"

"This is Natalia," Castiel said, losing the fight not to smile up at Dean with almost no shame.

Natalia looked up at Dean with wide eyes. "Hi Mr. Winchester," she said, her English thickly accented.

Dean looked a little surprised. "How you plan on courtin' my housemate?" he asked her.

Natalia looked at Dean confused, and then she looked at Castiel for a translation.

Castiel quickly said in Russian, "This man is crazy. Smile at him so he doesn't eat you."

Natalia gulped, and then she smiled at Dean with a blinding grin.

"What did you say to her?" Dean asked as Natalia ran off. "What language was that?"

"Russian," Castiel shrugged. "I'm very rusty with it, and I never knew that much to begin with."

"Enough to speak it though. Did you learn it from your mom?" Dean asked him.

"Yeah. There were a couple of houses that we stayed in while she was between jobs. I don't know if they were relatives or what, but they seemed more than happy to take mom and me in for a few weeks or months, depending on how long we needed it. Mom was happy then, we didn't have to worry about people finding out about her playing music or about my brain, every time we stayed with Russians we were allowed to be ourselves…" Castiel stopped talking, blushing that he had told so much to Dean about things that his mother declared they should never talk about to strangers.

"Russians must be a tight community, even in America," Dean said, surprised.

"I guess," Castiel said, packing up his books. The school day was over, and he wanted to take the math book home with him. He liked the problems in it, and was grateful the teacher had loaned it to him.

Dean and Castiel walked out of the school house together, dodging the elementary and middle school kids who studied on a different hall than they did. Sam and Raphael were waiting next to Dean's car, and they all climbed in together to drive away from the building.

"That reminds me," Castiel said, seeing Natalia walking home with three boys smaller than she was, "I invited Natalia's mother over to come spend time with my mother. It seems like they're lonely."

"The Lavrov Famliy?" Sam asked. "When did you start talking to them?"

"Natalia cornered me in the library," Castiel shrugged.

"She was kissing him when I walked up to them," Dean smirked.

"Isn't she like… ten?" Raphael asked. "You like 'em young, Castiel?"

"Ew," Castiel said, "You went to a bad place there, all on your own."

The other three boys laughed, surprised that Castiel made a joke. Castiel blushed because he didn't mean it as a joke, but he was glad that it was interpreted that way.

They arrived at the house, and they all got out. There were chores to be done, but with four boys that went rather quickly. They did some homework and ate dinner, another culinary masterpiece by Miss Anna. By the time they got around to playing a round of baseball, Castiel spotted the Lavrov family walking up the driveway.

"Hey Natalia," he greeted them, and was a little surprised when the girl launched herself into his arms.

"Mr. Castiel," she smiled, hugging his neck tight enough to cut off his air supply.

Castiel tried to ignore this as best he could, walking over to greet her very timid looking mother, who was trying to herd three smaller boys. "Hello, Mrs. Lavrov," he greeted her.

She blushed. "Mr. Novak, Natalia said it would be welcome if we came to call on your mother."

"Yes'm," Castiel said in English before switching over to Russian, "Please come with me."

Castiel wasn't sure of the protocol for this situation, but as Dean, Sam, and Raphael had followed them into the house and didn't even blink when he invited them to sit in the parlor, Castiel thought that it might be okay.

Castiel left them for a moment to get his mother, and they came back into the parlor just as Uriel was serving the small family dessert.

"Hello," Mrs. Novak said in Russian.

Castiel was surprised when Mrs. Lavrov immediately stood and then curtsied to his mother. "Katya Novak?" she asked, as if she were meeting royalty.

"No need for formalities, Castiel told me that you were from Russia?" Mrs. Novak said, sitting down and gesturing for Mrs. Lavrov to follow suite.

"I'm from Moscow," Mrs. Lavrov said, still speaking in Russian. "I didn't know that you were _that_ Katya Novak. I would have dressed up."

Mrs. Novak glanced at Castiel, who was confused by the exchange. "Castiel, why don't you take the Lavrov children out to play baseball?" She said it in English, and Castiel was really confused.

"I could stay…" Castiel started to say.

"Go, please," Mrs. Novak said more firmly, and Castiel, the Winchesters, Raphael, and the Lavrov children left to go outside and play.

"What was that about?" Dean asked Castiel. "She was curtsying like your mother was someone important."

Castiel was quiet for a moment. "I have no idea," he said. He honestly didn't. Sometimes people acted that way around his mother, but it wasn't everyone from Russia. Most Russians were just pleasant to him and his mother as they were alone in the world, but occasionally, only very occasionally, they would act weird like Mrs. Lavrov was doing. No matter how often Castiel questioned her about it, his mother would insist that it was just people being polite. Castiel was starting to think that there was more behind it.

They played baseball. The Lavrov children were mostly too young to understand the game, but the older boys were good at helping them play. Raphael threw the ball a lot softer, Dean picked the smallest one up to run bases with, and Sam acted like he would drop the ball before tagging one of them out. After thirty minutes of running around in circles and acting insane the Lavrov children triumphantly won the game. Dean was forced to feed them cookies, as he had bet a whole dozen snickerdoodles that his team could win.

Castiel was charmed by Dean. He was ferocious when he fought the ghosts, but he was such a softie around the children. He kept trying not to stare at Dean, but the silly smile he had on his face even when he was being painted with melty chocolate all over his face by one of the Lavrov boys, made Castiel want him. It made the memories of the wardrobe all the more enticing.

Castiel knew that he had been caught staring at Dean when Dean looked up at him and stared back into his eyes. Whatever had been on Castiel's face, Dean saw it and Castiel looked away so quickly that he hoped that Dean would think that he was imagining things. When Castiel looked back though, Dean's face was thoughtful and Castiel almost asked him what he was thinking.

Natalia had obviously claimed Castiel as hers, and as the night rose up she fell asleep in his arms. Mrs. Lavrov came outside with Mrs. Novak, and Uriel offered them a ride home in Dean's car. Dean didn't seem to mind, and he packed the children in the backseat, disentangled Natalia from Castiel's body, and then stepped back so that Uriel could take them home.

Mrs. Novak came to Castiel's side, and she took his hand. "Please don't ask any questions," she said in Russian. "I'll tell you when the time is right."

Castiel nodded his head, wishing that he trusted her more. He didn't like secrets, he didn't like not knowing, but it was a puzzle that his mother wished to keep to herself. "Soon," Castiel said, his voice harsh.

"Soon," Mrs. Novak agreed, and Castiel wished that he hadn't requested that promise from her because she suddenly looked very tired.

"Go to bed, mama," Castiel said, kissing her on the forehead.

"Good night. And I was watching you playing with the children. One day you will be a good father," Mrs. Novak said, and for some reason Castiel's heart sank.

Of course it sank, Castiel thought to himself later that night. He didn't think that he could bear the thought of touching anyone but Dean. He was angry with himself over that realization. He was angry that he was having all these feelings, angry that they made no sense, angry that he wanted to be locked in a wardrobe with a ghost possessed Dean again. He wanted Dean's hands on him. He wanted Dean's mouth making love to his own.

Castiel was in the shower, and he punched the shower wall a few times. Damn it, why would he fall in love with another man?

Was it love? Was what he was feeling love? It had only been a little over a week, a fucking week, and Castiel was this crazy over him? Watching Dean play with kids had melted him, made him putty waiting to be molded, shaped into whatever vessel Dean needed. Castiel was scared of losing himself over Dean. Castiel was angry that it was even a possibility that he could lose himself over Dean.

In any case, Castiel thought stepping out of the shower, it would be best to remind himself of who he was before he fell any deeper. There were parts of him that were strong and powerful once. His mind, his fists, his body. They were all weapons that he used his entire life to take care of himself and his mother, and it was time for him to do it again. Castiel was going to have to reassert himself as his own person, and he would. Tomorrow. As long as no one was paying attention.

He stared into his bedroom, looking at the dark and lonely room decorated in soft blues and crisp whites. He looked at the closed bathroom door which led to Dean's room, where Castiel would find comfort in the dark wood and pale green walls. He glanced back at his room one more time before walking through the open door.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I had planned for this to only be 9 chapters long. It was supposed to get me through my writer's block on another story I was doin' on LJ. Sigh. Intentions. Good. Road to Hell. All that jazz. Thanks again to everyone who faithfully comments on my stories. It really does help me keep up with the updating. And… unnie, **미안합니다!** I'll update with all things hot and Korean as soon as this leaves my brain!**

For the rest of the week, Castiel went through the motions of living without ever actually doing anything. The only thing that happened was that Mrs. Rousseau had sent around a journal and a bag of silver. Dean had split the silver between the three boys who had gone, and Castiel gave his share to his mother. She tried to find out why he had gotten so much silver, ten whole coins, but Castiel wasn't sharing. If she didn't have to, why would he?

It was the first time that Castiel had been aware that his mother had secrets that she didn't tell him. He told himself that he didn't care, but he was hurt so badly by this small betrayal that he was closing himself off to everyone and he couldn't stop it.

Lunch at school was poorly managed, and Castiel found a way to slip out to take some time to himself. He liked walking to the edge of the school property so that he could stare out into the bayou, a place that seemed to hold deep secrets. It made him feel like he was where he belonged.

"Hey, Novak," Castiel heard his name being called by someone he didn't know. He turned around and saw six boys, all from different grades in the high school.

"Hello," Castiel said, feeling just a tad bit nervous.

"My cousin goes to school in Boston," one of the boys said. "You know Gordon Walker?"

Castiel remembered Gordon. Gordon had become intimately acquainted with Castiel's fists more than a few times. "I know him."

"He said that you were a joke."

"That's nice," Castiel said, turning around to stare out at the bayou some more.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you, don't turn your back on me," the kids said, sounding angry.

"Does this have a point?" Castiel turned back around to face the boys. "If you're going to fight me, then you might as well try. I have to tell you though, you probably should have brought more boys with you. If you would like to introduce yourselves in order to be polite…"

Gordon's cousin didn't wait for Castiel to finish his sentence. He swung at Castiel's head, and Castiel dodged it and planted his fist in Gordon's cousin's chest. He was knocked backwards, winded and trying to breathe as the next two kids jumped in.

Castiel's foot shot out to hit one of the boys in the stomach as his elbow slammed into the other kid's throat. Castiel was knocked onto his ass by the fourth boy kicking at his thigh, and Castiel grabbed the foot to drag him down to the ground with him. He punched him in the face, but the fifth kid grabbed Castiel's hair and held him back as the last kid started pummeling his chest.

It didn't take long for those kids to get thrown off of him though, and Castiel looked up in amazement as Sam, Dean, and Raphael had all joined in the fight. Dean looked pissed, and Castiel thought he was beautiful, fighting like his own life was on the line. His tee-shirt pulled tight against his chest as he pulled his arm back to punch one of Castiel's attackers, and the look on his face was pure rage. Castiel's heart almost couldn't take it and he was gasping for breath at the sight of Dean, not just the pain that had been inflicted on his body.

Besides the fact that Castiel had already taken three of the six boys out, Sam, Dean, and Raphael took care of the remaining three in such a quick, brutal fashion that Castiel figured that he wouldn't have to worry about being picked on at this school ever again.

Dean hauled him up from the dirt, swiping a hand over the dust that settled on Castiel's clothing. They didn't say a single word to the six boys on the ground, but Dean gave them a look that kept them silent.

"You take Castiel home," Raphael said to Dean, "We gotta finish up the day at school, but he's gotta have his face patched up. Your mama and Mrs. Novak were goin' to go into New Orleans, but you're gonna have to sneak around dad."

"We'll go to the old clubhouse," Dean said, throwing his car keys at Raphael.

"Hey, I want to drive," Sam protested.

"You drive like shit," Dean said, and then he and Castiel were walking away from the school.

"I'm sorry to make you miss class," Castiel sighed.

"It's really okay," Dean shrugged. "I'll just tell the teacher something came up, and if she asks around all the other teachers will tell her that we had a job or something. People kind of let us do whatever we want."

"Is this are that prone to monster attacks?" Castiel asked.

"This is the outskirts of New Orleans. If I'm not fighting some crazy thing out in the bayou, I'm in the city. Most everyone knows that," Dean smiled at Castiel.

Castiel smiled back, but it ripped his lip so he touched some of the blood dripping from his mouth and quit. "Ouch," he said, but his voice wasn't very loud.

Dean laughed at him and stuck his hands in his pockets, walking down the dirt road towards their house. "Castiel, I've never seen anyone fight like you before," he tried to start the conversation.

"You mean you've never seen anyone get their ass kicked like me before?" Castiel asked, completely serious.

"You took on six guys and you didn't even blink," Dean said. "If you had been just a tad bit quicker, they wouldn't have ever laid a hand on you."

"I took out three guys, Dean, and then the remaining three proceeded to kick my ass."

"No, I think you would have gotten them even if the rest of us hadn't showed up…"

"Dean," Castiel said, stopping on the road, "do I need to take my shirt off so you can see what they did to me?"

Dean stared at Castiel, and he swallowed hard. "You're going to have to take it off anyway, but that doesn't change the point. You had three of them down within the first minute of the fight. That is very impressive…"

Castiel sighed. "Thank you for the pep talk. How much further is it to your clubhouse?"

Dean looked at Castiel for a moment, and then he followed him. It took them another ten minutes or so walking, but they made it to a clubhouse close to Dean's house. It had obviously been built by boys, but the inside was cool and there was even a window and a door. There was two chairs and a cabinet on the inside, and Dean pulled out some basic medical supplies.

"You keep bandages in your clubhouse?" Castiel asked with a raised brow.

"We were some violent kids, and mama hated it when we came home needin' patchin' up. It was better to hide it from her," Dean said.

Castiel took his shirt off, and he almost felt a kind of pride when Dean stared at him for a moment. He looked down to see if the bruises were going to be as bad as he suspected, and sure enough his skin was already blotted yellow and purple and bright red. "Crap, it looks a lot worse than it feels," Castiel said, looking back up at Dean.

Dean put some cream on his hand, and he looked at Castiel's chest. "You want to do this yourself?"

Castiel fought with the need to be self-sufficient for a brief moment. He could do it himself, but he wanted Dean's hands on him again. He remembered the promise he made to himself last night, but then he was honest. "I think that you might need to do it. I might scream like a sissy if I were to…" Castiel felt himself blushing.

Dean nodded his head, and he bit his lower lip so that he could take a few steps closer to Castiel. He rubbed the cream into the bruises, and Castiel hissed when it got into some of his broken skin. Dean moved up and applied the cream to his cheekbone, and Castiel closed his eyes so he didn't have to see Dean so close to him. It was hard to not give into temptation and open his eyes, hard to choose not to see Dean that close to him, but he fought it off.

"Dean," Castiel said softly, his eyes still closed.

"Yeah?" Dean answered him back, his breath warm on Castiel's face.

"Dean…" Castiel repeated himself, and he searched for something to say, "That really hurts."

"Getting punched in the face hurts," Dean agreed, laughing a little. His fingers moved to Castiel's mouth, and when Dean's fingertips brushed across Castiel's lower lip, Castiel had to fight with himself to not suck that digit into his mouth. He held his breath so that he wouldn't moan, and he clenched the chair he was sitting on with white knuckles. He still didn't trust himself to open his eyes, so he scrunched them shut as tight as he could.

"It hurts that bad?" Dean asked him. "I think you're going to break the chair, Cas."

It was almost too much, hearing Dean's nickname for him while Dean was touching his lips. And who made lips so sensitive anyway? Who's brilliant idea had that been? Castiel felt like he was going to die, Dean's fingertips were so calloused they rasped across Castiel's chapped lips, and Dean might as well have had electricity floating out from his fingers, that was how much energy he was leaving behind.

Castiel bit his tongue, not allowing him to say a word, because he knew all he would be able to get out was a strangled, 'Please.' And Castiel would not allow himself to do that.

"Almost done, Cas," Dean told him.

Castiel wanted to whimper. He could feel the whine coming up in his throat, but he wouldn't let it escape. He couldn't…

Dean was finished, and Castiel put his shirt back on. They sat in the clubhouse in silence for a moment, and Castiel wanted to fill that silence with something.

"How did you know I needed your help?" Castiel asked him.

Dean smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Your girlfriend told us."

"My girlfriend?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Natalia ran up to us in the dining hall, and she was screaming that her boyfriend was fighting outside next to the bayou, so Sam and Raphael and I went runnin'. Weren't going to let you have all the fun by yourself, now, were we _sha_?"

"She knew enough English for that?" Castiel asked, grinning a little.

"She did. Or at least, I figured it out when she said 'boyfriend' and 'bayou.' I made those two words out and with the look on her face I figured you were in trouble, so I went to investigate."

Castiel smiled at that thought. "I guess she really thinks I'm her boyfriend."

"It's a little disturbin'," Dean said seriously, "You bein' a cradle robber and all."

"I like 'em young," Castiel said with equal seriousness, slurring his words to get the same inflection as Dean.

Dean laughed, throwing his head back and leaning in his chair. "Maybe you can take her to the cotillion," he laughed, wiping his eyes.

"What's a cotillion?" Castiel asked, confused.

"It's the big dance at the end of the year, everyone gets all dressed up and all the girls have to find escorts. We'll probably get chosen by some girl before too late, and then we have to go to dress fittings with them and pick out a matching suit to wear with their dress and we have to buy them flowers and everything."

Castiel's nose wrinkled at the thought. "I don't want to go to a dance," he sighed.

Dean looked at him sympathetically. "Don't worry, none of us do. Most times, I don't even think the girls want to do it, but since it took place of their coming out ceremonies most parents like it. They just have to throw one party instead of each of the parents throwing their own. It's to show the community who is ready to get married."

"I don't think I want to get married," Castiel said.

"Who in their right mind wants to get married?" Dean asked him.

Raphael and Sam came a little later, and the four of them got into Dean's car and drove home. Castiel knew that he still looked like he had been in a fight, and he wished that he would have brought a change of clothing to school so that he could have not walked into their house wearing a blood spattered shirt, but there was no hope for it.

Fortunately, Castiel was able to sneak up the back steps to change, because there was a strange car in the driveway and the ladies were in the parlor with some man. Castiel didn't stay to find out who, though, because he had to sneak away to get clean clothing.

Sam and Raphael had stopped by downstairs to say hi to the visitor, and Dean had snuck upstairs with Castiel. Dean blinked a little as Castiel stripped off his shirt and pulled out another one in record time, going to his bathroom to check out his face. He moaned a little, "There's no way I'm hiding this from mother."

Dean laughed. "Well, it's time to go pay the piper then, _sha_," he giggled.

Castiel gave him a look, like Dean was quite simply the unfunniest man on the planet, but Dean didn't act like he cared too terribly much. He laughed some more and then they went down the steps together.

Sam and Raphael were standing outside the closed parlor doors with looks of confusion on their faces. Dan and Castiel looked at them, but before they said anything they were holding a finger up to their lips. They scooted closer, scrunching down on the floor to put their ears up to the door under where Sam and Raphael were leaning.

"I mean, my God, Katya," Castiel was shocked to hear Senator Crowley's voice shouting at his mother, "we had a deal. You give me the locations of your family's jewels, and I was going to find a place to hide you and your son where you were going to keep him hidden. It took two weeks, two weeks woman, and I find a letter on my desk about a boy who solved a math problem on a test that the teacher put down as a joke. A math problem that theoretical mathematicians have been working on for years, and your son solves it in less than ten minutes in his head! The teacher sent it to her professor in Nashville, and the CIA gets involved, and now I have to make up lies to cover up the fact that I hid this child in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, so that he wouldn't get this kind of attention. What are you thinking about?"

"He made a mistake…" Mrs. Novak started to say. Castiel could hear her voice shaking, and it scared him, too. His mother was never anything less than calm at any given time.

"Mistake, my ass. I have never seen that child be less than circumspect about his abilities. What has he found here to distract him from hiding like you have taught him all these years? How in the world am I supposed to keep my end of the bargain if you keep letting him run around like this? What's next, do you think that it's okay to let him go to college where people can start asking questions about him?"

"He should go to college," Mrs. Winchester said. "He is a brilliant boy…"

"That's just the problem, isn't it?" Senator Crowley growled. "He isn't exactly a boy, is he? He's a fucking science experiment. You know the Russian government is destroying those children? You know they're looking for him? It's almost impossible to keep him hidden, and all my hard work is destroyed because your _son_ got distracted and turned a test in without thinking."

"It won't happen again," Mrs. Novak promised. "I won't let him go to college, I'll take him out of school…"

"You're fucking right you'll take him out of school…" Senator Crowley growled. "I'm going to take John Winchester off assignment and send him here for a few weeks. He'll be able to keep a better lookout for our national interests…"

"He needs to be treated like a boy. If you treat him like a monster he'll act like a monster. He's a good boy, he's kind and he's making friends with my boys. He'll look out for himself, and we'll look out for the Novaks. Now, I wouldn't mind having my husband home, but it will not change the way we're treating Castiel. He is going to school with my boys, and he will go to college with my boys, too. I don't care what they did to him in Russia, he's going to be treated like a human being in America." Mrs. Winchester's voice was firm and calm, but it didn't stop Castiel's heart from beating too loudly in his ears. He was having problems breathing, and his brain had screeched to a halt.

The other three boys were staring with wide eyes down at him. There was silence in the parlor, and Castiel took the opportunity to run out of the house.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel supposed that one of the good things about not being a real boy is that he can disappear whenever he wants to. So he is hiding up in a tree by the time Dean is looking for him, and he can see Dean walking right underneath him, yelling his name out in the big back yard, and Castiel is simply sitting there making no noise and trying to recite the multiplication table in his head until he has the nerve to talk to anyone again.

He waited until it was dark to make his way down, and he snuck silently into the house. He missed dinner, and he was briefly sad to have lost out on one of Anna's spectacular meals. He made his way up the back steps of the house and slipped silently into his room. He didn't particularly want to talk to anyone, but Dean was sitting on his bed when he silently closed the door behind him.

"Cas," Dean said, and he sounded strange. It was as if he were relieved and worried and completely wrecked all at the same time.

Castiel wasn't prepared for Dean to get up off of his bed and wrap him up in his arms, holding tight. Castiel froze, not sure what to do. For the first time, his body didn't erupt into electrical tingles when Dean touched him. He was too numb to respond.

"You want to talk?" Dean asked him.

"Not especially," Castiel replied. He waited for Dean's arms to drop from around him before he started taking off his clothing.

Dean stepped back, staring and confused.

"I'm going to take a shower," Castiel said, throwing his dirty clothing into a corner. He didn't even care that he was naked as the day he was born in front of Dean.

Dean's eyes were glued to Castiel's movements, and at any other time Castiel was pretty sure he would have been unnerved by it. It just wasn't happening this time, and Castiel walked into the bathroom. He stood under the shower spray for at least five minutes before he cleaned himself, and then he walked back into his room where Dean was still standing as if he had been shell shocked.

Castiel pulled on his sleeping pants, and then he finally opened his mouth. "I'm not sure what I should say."

Dean nodded his head, blinking his eyes a few times. "I get that."

Castiel went over and sat on the bed next to Dean. He felt the water from his hair dripping down onto his shoulders, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to wipe it away. "It makes sense," he started. "I mean, statistically speaking, how many people are like me?"

"None," Dean answered.

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," Castiel said dryly, looking over at Dean.

"I don't mean it in a bad way _sha_," Dean said. "Statistically speaking, how many people are like me?"

Castiel looked over at Dean, his mouth kind of open. "I've never met anyone like you."

"See, does that mean I'm not a real boy?" Dean asked him.

Castiel contemplated Dean for a moment. "No," he answered.

"Well then, the answer is pretty obvious then, isn't it?" Dean smiled at him.

"I think they made me wrong," Castiel confessed.

"Why would you think that? You eat, you sleep, you get up and are tortured by school, you get picked on by your classmates, you have a good time with your friends… you are having a good time with us, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I think that I feel things that I'm not supposed to feel. I think that I do things that I'm not supposed to be able to do…"

"You have quirks," Dean agreed. "But I like them." Dean was smiling at Castiel, and Castiel couldn't help himself. He leaned over and lay his head down on Dean's lap. He didn't have the alcohol as an excuse this time, but Dean didn't jump up and run away so he figured that it would be okay.

"Castiel," Dean whispered. "You're human. I don't care what that creep said about you, you're one of the most human people I've ever met. You're one of my favorite humans, and I've only known you for a couple of weeks, and I don't like a lot of people. If anything, between the two of us, I'm less human."

Castiel laughed, rolling over onto his back so he could look up at Dean. It brought his cheek in contact with Dean's belly, and he could hear it grumbling. "Are you hungry?"

"I've been waiting for you. I was scared you weren't going to come back, so I didn't want you to come get your stuff and leave without me seeing you first," Dean confessed, looking down into Castiel's eyes.

"Let's get some food," Castiel said, but he didn't move from Dean's lap.

"Okay," Dean agreed, and his hand smoothed back Castiel's hair for a moment. They stared into each other's eyes for an indeterminate length of time.

"Food," Castiel said, to remind himself and break whatever spell was holding him and Dean prisoner.

"Food," Dean repeated, and a few moments after he said the word it looked like it hit him that they had agreed to eat. "You're going to have to get off my lap, _sha_," he laughed.

"Comfy," Castiel protested, but he got up and they went down into the kitchen.

Dean of course finds pie, and since he knows Castiel likes it he puts a scoop of ice cream from the ice box onto his plate. They sit next to each other at the kitchen table, which is too small for more than one person, really, and they eat in companionable silence for a while.

"There's this gold, in the Black Hills of South Dakota," Castiel starts to say, and when he realizes where it's going he shuts up immediately.

"What about it?" Dean asked, smiling into Castiel's eyes.

"It's just that… it comes in colors. Some of it is pink, some of it is yellow, and some is green," Castiel looks down at his ice cream. "Your eyes are that same color green."

Dean stares at him with the Black Hills green gold eyes for a moment. "Huh," he said, like he doesn't really know what to say.

"Like peridots," Castiel continues, and he really wishes that he could shut up now, but his mouth keeps moving and these words keep coming out and so he bites his tongue.

"Well, your eyes are like sapphires," Dean says with a smile, like comparing each other's eyes to gem stones and precious metals is a completely normal thing for boys to do with each other.

Castiel stares at Dean, who simply reaches over and wipes a smear of ice cream off of his upper lip with his thumb. Castiel worries that he wants to smudge more on his mouth just so that he can feel Dean's thumb on him again, but he's distracted when Dean sucks the ice cream off of his own thumb and takes another bite of pie. Does Dean know how incredibly sexy he's being? Castiel thinks that maybe he doesn't, maybe sexy is just the way that Dean is and Castiel is just not immune to it like Dean's friends are. Maybe it's just that Dean doesn't know that he's being looked at like an object of lust by Castiel, and because Dean's fooled for a moment into thinking that Castiel is a real human he decides not to ask those questions.

They were interrupted by Mrs. Winchester, who had come to the kitchen to get herself a glass of milk. "Castiel, did you get into a fight today?" she asked, concerned and touching Castiel's face lightly.

"Yes ma'am," Castiel said, blushing.

"No wonder you were hiding during dinner. I was worried…" Mrs. Winchester bit her lower lip, studying his face. "You were hiding from your mama, weren't you? She would be so upset."

"Yes ma'am, please don't tell her," Castiel asked.

Mrs. Winchester thought for a moment, "Dean, you might want to take Castiel with you down to Bourbon Street when you pick up some of Uriel's drink," she told him. "You two will have to leave right after school, so you won't have time to come home, okay?"

"Sure mama," Dean said with a smile, and he dropped one of his heavy eyelids over his Black Hills Gold/Peridot eye to wink at Castiel.

"Thank you, Mrs. Winchester," Castiel said.

"I hate hidin' secrets from your mama, Castiel, so you better not let this happen again or I will tell her myself, you un'erstan'?"

"Yes ma'am," Castiel said with a grin.

Castiel and Dean went back up the stairs together. "My mama is amazing," Dean said, shaking his head.

"That she is," Castiel agreed. They stood at the door of Castiel's room for a few moments, staring at each other. "Good night, Dean," Castiel said finally.

"See you tomorrow," Dean said with a smile.

School the next day was boring, as usual. It bothered him when the teacher had to repeat something for the twentieth time for some kid that couldn't learn, and it bothered him that during the time it took the teacher to say something Castiel had already read the entire chapter on the subject. He tried to stay quiet though, like he had been taught to do, and to appear as stupidly normal as every other kid in the classroom.

Dean spent most of lunch pouring over the journal that Mrs. Rousseau had given them, taking notes over the thing and biting on the tip of his pencil.

Castiel wondered if Dean knew that drove him insane.

There was another new math book waiting for him, this time from the principal. He dove through it after lunch, losing time that the other kids were using to learn about health and math and history. It wasn't that Castiel didn't need those subjects, but it wasn't hard for him to read a history book and figure out that it was written with a skewed viewpoint anyway, his own life experiences giving lies to how a bunch of white men started the greatest country on Earth where everyone was created equal and the streets were lined in gold and if you wanted to get ahead all you had to do was try. And be white, preferably from England or Germany, although Scotland wasn't a terrible choice to have ancestry from if you could manage it. Castiel had already figured out that while some aspects of that philosophy were impossible, most were hopelessly naïve and even annoying to read about.

Dean drove himself and Castiel into New Orleans right as the sun was going down. They had taken off their overshirts, November was still too hot to wear a lot of clothing this far South. Dean was wearing one of those sleeveless shirts that Sam wore all the time, and Castiel had to keep himself from staring at Dean's arms. They were really nice and muscled, and every time Dean had to shift gears in the car or turn the wheel little bulges would appear that made Castiel want to lick them. It was a terrible position to be in, but Castiel was starting to enjoy the little tortures that being around Dean gave him.

Dean pulled up in front of a two story building, painted pink with a black wrought iron balcony on the second floor. It was called "Lafitte's in Exile," and Castiel followed Dean inside of it.

"Ash," Dean greeted the bartender with a handshake.

"Dean," the bartender grinned at Dean. "You comin' in for a drink, or just picking up a couple of bottles for Uriel?"

"The latter," Dean smiled. "How's business?"

Castiel knew that they were talking, but he was too busy staring at some of the patrons. There were a lot of men in this bar, a lot of them, and two of them were in the corner at a table kissing. Not just pecks on the cheek, but kissing like he and Dean had done in the wardrobe, tongues appearing any time they moved their heads, fingers skimming over the other's face, lips sliding and eyes closed and Castiel couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Cas," Dean said his name, and Castiel had a feeling that it wasn't the first time, "Castiel," he repeated himself, and Castiel had to rip his eyes away from the scene in front of him to look at Dean.

"Dean, those men are kissing," Castiel whispered to him, but not softly enough that Ash didn't hear.

Ash threw his head back and laughed like he had never heard a funnier joke in his life. "This one is precious," he told Dean, chuckling. "You should keep him."

"Yeah, he's great, our Castiel," Dean said, still trying to figure out what was going on in Castiel's head. "We'd better go before his eyes fall out of his head."

Ash smiled at them, and then put another bottle up on the counter. "Here," he said to Dean, "You might need that. He looks like he's in a state of shock."

Dean looked shocked, and then he took the brown bag and the bottle that Ash gave him. He led Castiel out of the bar and waited until they were in the front seat to hand the bottle that Ash gave him to Castiel. "You going to be okay, _sha_?" Dean asked him, his voice small and gruff.

"Dean, those men were kissing," Castiel repeated himself.

"Yeah, it's a gay bar," Dean said, looking over at Castiel. "The oldest gay bar in America, but it's still a gay bar."

"A gay bar?" Castiel asked.

"It caters to homosexuals," Dean told him, starting the car and pulling out.

"What's a homosexual?" Castiel asked, all curiosity.

"It's when a person likes another person of the same sex," Dean frowned at Castiel. "Tell me you've heard about this."

Castiel shook his head in the negative. His whole life had been focused on hiding and moving and surviving. This was something that he had never heard of, although he questioned now some of the names he had been called. "Is it for queers?" Castiel asked.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I have been called 'queer' before, and I don't know if that's what they meant when they called me that. I just hit them because it sounded bad. Did they call me that because they thought I was a homosexual?"

"Sometimes it's just used as an insult," Dean said, and his voice was still gruff, like he was protecting himself from this conversation.

"So it is possible to kiss other men?" Castiel asked Dean.

"_Sha_, you honestly didn't know about this?"

"I had never heard of it happening before," Castiel said. "It's not something that people have ever talked about with me before. How do you know if you're homosexual?"

"You're attracted to other men," Dean said, "I thought it was pretty simple."

"Well, what happens if you're only attracted to one man? Does that still mean you're a homosexual?" Castiel looked at Dean, trying to figure it out. "What if you're attracted to one man but you've never been attracted to anyone else?"

"Cas, are you speaking from…"

"Or what if…" Castiel began again, but he was interrupted by Dean shoving a bottle of alcohol in his hands.

"Drink that," Dean gestured to the bottle. "Drink it, concentrate on breathing for a few minutes, and then we're going to talk."

"Dean…" Castiel protested, but he drank. It was only Tennessee Whiskey, Jack Daniel's to be precise, but it burned something horrible going down his throat. Castiel swallowed it anyway and let the warmth spread out to the tips of his fingers.

"Okay, now we're going to try this again," Dean said. "Homosexual is just a label so that people can sort the world out into nice, neat boxes. Not everyone is going to have the same reactions to different people, and not everyone is going to find the same thing beautiful. Don't worry about labels, Cas, just go with your gut and your heart and let them tell you what to do. As long as it doesn't hurt anyone else, then you're fine."

"That sounds eerily similar to Satanism, Dean Winchester," Castiel said, taking another long swallow from the bottle of Jack.

"Well, I got it in a holy revelation from dancing naked in my backyard," Dean said with a straight face.

Castiel laughed, it started as a quick exhalation of breath and turned into a full belly laugh, and Dean was laughing along with him this time.

Dean pulled over to the same spot that they had stopped in last time they were in New Orleans, and Castiel was thinking that Dean considered this to be his own, private spot.

"Give me some of that," Dean gestured to the bottle, and Castiel willingly handed it over.

Dean got out of the car and sat on the trunk, next to the fin. Castiel smiled at sat next to him, and they watched the river flow by, interrupted occasional by a grunt from an alligator or the buzzing of a mosquito.

They passed the bottle back and forth, waiting for the sun to set so they could go back home. They shared the silence and the whiskey, and Castiel thought that things might just be okay with them after all.

**A/N: 'Cause I feel really guilty about people thinking that I've done research to write this story, let me tell you how much I'm cheating. I'm Southern American culturally, I'm mixed genetically (half Chicana, half Oglala Lakota [Sioux Nation, for those of you who don't know what that is]), and I have a couple of degrees in history. So… not a lot of research bein' done here, just tellin' stories about what people have told me and then mixing it with my favorite SPN characters. This is truly my stress-free story as I'm having problems writing about some Korean pop stars right now in LJ. **


	11. Chapter 11

There was a small lake at the edge of the Winchester property. The boys had abandoned all pretenses of fishing that Saturday when the sun had come out and raised the temperature to scorching, a temperature that Castiel was beginning to suspect was the permanent climate of Louisiana. Sam had picked Raphael up and had thrown him in the pond when they had taken a break to get some alcohol, and then Dean had stripped off his shirt and had jumped in right after him.

The four of them had a great time splashing each other and yelling, and Castiel knew that if there had even been any fish in the lake before this they would have long ran away from the boys' wild antics.

Dean and Sam and Raphael started having races from their end of the pond to an island out in the middle of it, and Castiel had pulled himself up on the dock to lay out in the sun and dry off. No one questioned his lack of desire to participate; Dean had given them a look when Sam had started calling him chicken. Dean was letting Castiel make his own way.

Castiel was never more grateful to another person on the planet.

He enjoyed the way the sun was beating down on his skin, enjoyed the rest he got from laying on the dock with no one to tell him he was doing it wrong. He used the time to get comfortable with himself, with his emotions and feeling and his body, but he was distracted by a cold spot on his skin, forcing him to pop one of his eyes open.

He sat up quickly, staring at the unfamiliar man who had just cast his shadow on Castiel's body. Castiel looked around for his shirt, conscious of his nakedness in front of this strange man.

"You're Castiel Novak?" the man asked him, and Castiel froze. He hoped that this wasn't an enemy coming to harm him, because Dean and Sam and Raphael were on the island, staring over at him and the man. They wouldn't be able to get here in time if this man meant him harm.

"Yes sir," Castiel said, pulling his shirt on over his naked body. It took him a moment to realize he was wearing Dean's shirt, but it made him feel safe so he didn't care.

"I'm John Winchester," the man said, and he held out a hand for Castiel to shake. Castiel took it tentatively, slowly recognizing Sam's features in the other man's visage.

"Sir," Castiel said, slowly lowering his guard. He stared at him, trying to figure out why he was here and not waiting at the house for the boys to get back.

"You've put my department into quite a tizzy," John said, smiling at him a little. "We're trying to figure out who you are."

"I'm just a boy," Castiel said, unable to drop his defenses even with this man.

"Not quite," John said, staring at his boys who were swimming in a hurry to get back to Castiel. They obviously hadn't recognized who the man on the dock was yet.

Castiel stared at his friends, trying to get to his side. He felt grateful that they were coming, proud that they were struggling to get to his side.

"We can't quite place your purpose in the Russian experiment," John said, continuing to talk to him.

Castiel didn't say a word. He didn't know if John was looking for confirmation that he knew what he was talking about or if John thought that he had some idea as to why he was made. In any case, silence had served him in the past in finding out secrets.

"The other experiments were named from traditional Kabbalistic teachings on angels. Your name isn't in the traditional Kabbalah, nor is it in any of the other books that refer to angels, except for some vague mention about Thursdays and the planet Jupiter."

Castiel remained silent, already kind of knowing where this was going.

"So what is it that you can do, boy? I brought one of your brothers on the possibility that there are werewolves in the area, but he seems to have no idea who you are, either…" John kept talking, but Castiel was distracted.

Dean was lagging behind, Dean, who was athletic and could keep up with anyone. He was moving strangely in the water, struggling. Sam and Raphael were already too far in front of him to notice, and Castiel saw Dean's head go under the surface of the lake.

It wasn't like he was thinking at that point. He pulled Dean's shirt off over his head and dove into the water, ignoring the fact that he wasn't as strong a swimmer as the other boys, ignoring that he might get good information from John about what he was. It wasn't important; the only thing that Castiel was concerned about was that his Dean wasn't coming up.

He swam as quickly as he could, getting to the part of the lake where he had seen Dean go under. He dove, swimming forever until he had Dean's hand, pulling him up so that his arms were wrapped around Dean's chest. He held him safe in his arms, kicking with his legs to get back to the shore. He was halfway there when he felt Sam's arms around him, and Raphael had to struggle to get Dean's body away from him.

Dean's body, Castiel thought, shaking. Dean wasn't struggling or even trying to help. Was he dead? He couldn't be dead, he just couldn't. Castiel still had to figure things out, still had things that he had to tell Dean and questions that he had to ask him. Castiel was crying, and he knew his voice was loud as he screamed Dean's name, staring at Raphael in order for him to know that it was important that he be okay.

"It's okay," Sam's voice was in his ear. "It's okay, we've got you, it's okay," he kept repeating himself, and Castiel wanted to explain that it _was not_ okay, Dean needed to breathe, Dean needed to know, but he was crying and he couldn't get the words out.

Sam and Raphael dragged Castiel and Dean to shore, and John was there, breathing into his son's mouth, pushing on his chest in a rhythm that Castiel didn't know, and then Dean threw up lake water all over his father.

Castiel felt himself breathe again; he sat down heavily on the dock at Sam's feet and wiped tears away from his eyes. Dean's first action was to look around in a panic until he saw Castiel, and then he relaxed, too. The boys stared at each other for a moment while everyone else was freaking out, and Castiel was the first to break eye contact and start walking back up to the house.

Sam and his father pulled Dean's arms around their necks so that they could take him back to the house, despite the fact that he insisted that he was okay and that Sam was too tall to support him. Raphael gathered up their clothing at the dock, and Castiel knew they were all behind him, but if he walked with them, if they saw his face, every single secret that he hoped he was hiding about how he felt about Dean would be known. He didn't trust himself to turn around and look at Dean, to check one more time that he was okay. He felt kind of like Orpheus, but he didn't have a damn lyre to keep himself company and distract himself on the walk back up to their home.

Sam and Raphael were talking to Mr. Winchester excitedly, but try as he might Castiel could not make out Dean's voice behind him. He kept walking and when he got to the house he disappeared upstairs, declaring that he was going to take a shower and change his clothing.

He was in the shower when he heard Dean come into the bathroom. Neither of them said a word as Castiel almost tripped over the edge of the tub to get out, and then wrapped Dean up in his arms. Dean was holding him just as tightly, and neither of them spoke as they felt the tension draining out of their bodies due to their embrace. Castiel kissed Dean's cheek and laid his head on his shoulder, taking comfort in his presence.

Eventually, it got to be awkward because Castiel was naked and dripping all over Dean, who was still dirty with the lake water. Dean took his clothing off too, and they stepped in the shower together and got clean and then went back to their own rooms to put on fresh clothing.

Castiel quickly pulled his clothing on and then went straight into Dean's room, not comfortable with being apart from him for any length of time. Words didn't seem appropriate; words would have only made things more difficult, so they both kept silent.

They went down the steps together to join the rest of their family. Mr. Winchester's face was pale as Mrs. Winchester was hissing furiously in his ear, and he looked at Castiel with some degree of regret in his eyes.

What got his attention though, was the blond boy sitting on the couch. He stood up when Castiel entered the room, and he was a little taller than Dean. He sat back down before anyone else noticed that he had stood up, and he looked at everyone else like they were just as fascinating, but Castiel saw that his eyes kept darting back to him.

Mr. Winchester introduced him. "This is Balthazar Leninson," he said, "He's on loan from the Soviet Union so that we can work together to better understand the supernatural phenomenon."

"Hello," Balthazar greeted them. He turned to Mrs. Novak, "I understand you're from the Mother Country."

"Yes," Mrs. Novak said, "I emigrated here…"

"Almost twenty years ago," Mr. Winchester said for her, "She had her son here, too."

Castiel didn't contradict Mr. Winchester's lie with any movement of his body, and neither did anyone else in the room. Balthazar acted as if he believed him, but the look he shot Castiel gave lie to that action.

"It's good to meet you," Balthazar said, and his English was a weird blend of Russian and British English.

They started sitting down, but Mr. Winchester pulled Castiel aside for a moment. "I didn't know you hadn't any idea of what was going on…"

"I have some clues," Castiel tried to comfort Mr. Winchester, who was obviously distraught over the situation. "It didn't shock me, and I tend to learn more when I am silent. I was taking advantage of you, and I apologize."

Mr. Winchester looked at Castiel with some degree of surprise on his face. "I should thank you for the life of my son, and for the fact that you were so gracious when I was telling you things that might have been painful for you."

"I appreciate the concern, Mr. Winchester, but I'm stronger than I look," Castiel said.

Mr. Winchester seemed comforted by Castiel's words, and then uncomfortable by the fact that he was taking comfort in a sixteen year old boy's easy forgiveness. He turned around and sat down with his family, trying not to stare at Castiel so that he could figure him out.

Castiel sat with his mother, who was speaking to Balthazar in Russian, but when everyone was situated they switched back over to English because it was polite to speak in a language that everyone understood.

Balthazar sat with the boys most of the day, and everyone was uncomfortable in his almost entirely unexplainable presence. He kept asking Castiel questions like "How did he like being born in America?" and "Do people still treat him different because he knows Russian?" and "Which subject at school was easiest for him?" and "How many times did he get into fights?" It was kind of like the questions that Dean had asked him when he first moved in, but Balthazar would smile to himself smugly whenever Castiel answered something, like he had given away a state secret or a clue that he didn't want to reveal about himself.

Dinner was still uncomfortable because Balthazar reacted exactly the same way that Castiel reacted to Miss Anna's cooking. He even went so far to ask Miss Anna to marry him, stating that no one in Russia would care about her mixed background. It made Miss Anna uncomfortable and it made Raphael furious, but they just avoided him and disappeared together after the meal.

Castiel joined the family on the front porch after dinner for music, but no one asked Mrs. Novak to play because of Balthazar's presence, and Balthazar sang along to some of the songs. He had a decent voice, nothing that would embarrass anyone, but Castiel was so uncomfortable with his presence that he didn't want to call him good or anything.

Castiel retired early to bed, and Balthazar said that he was tired too. Mrs. Winchester asked Castiel to show Balthazar the room at the far end of their hall for him to sleep in, and Castiel begrudgingly said that he would do it.

"So you weren't really born in America, were you?" Balthazar asked him.

"That's what my birth certificate says," Castiel lied with a straight face.

"You really think you're fooling me?" Balthazar laughed. "I'm your brother. There's no way that you're not one of us."

"What are you talking about?" Castiel asked, his eyes wide and as innocent looking as he could make them.

"Tell me you don't feel the surge in your veins for something more. Tell me Mrs. Novak is actually your mother. Tell me that she isn't one of the lost princesses that were banished or killed by Lenin."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Castiel said, and this time he was being honest.

Balthazar started at him. "If I tried to punch you right now, I could find out an answer, couldn't I?"

"I wish you wouldn't," Castiel kept lying. "I'm a really bad fighter." Balthazar snorted, but at that point they were at his room. "Good night, I really am tired and I have to wake up early for school tomorrow."

"Like we actually need that much sleep?" Balthazar said dryly.

Castiel gave him what he hoped was one last weird look before he turned around and escaped to his bedroom. He sat on his bed, too confused to even make sense of the day, and then changed into his night clothes.

He stared out the window as the moon came up, almost but not quite full, and he wondered what Dean was doing. He heard the door from the hallway open up and close slightly, and when he turned around he was surprised to see Balthazar standing against his door.

"What are you doing in here?" Castiel asked him, kind of angry because this was more than a little imposition on his privacy.

"Look, if you are our Castiel, you need to know that we've been worried about you. We know that it's hard to fit in with everyone else, and we were raised with each other. Humans are weird, but we were made to be operatives for the Soviets. I'm not going to turn you in, but you need to know that all of us are worried for you."

"I didn't invite you into my room, and you're weirding me out," Castiel said. "I'd appreciate it if you would just leave…"

Balthazar walked over to Castiel, tucking his fingers underneath his chin so that he had to look him straight in the eye. "Little brother, you are far too beautiful to be anything but one of ours. I can feel your power standing across the room; feel that it has been kept leashed all of this time. Let me show you how to let go, let me show you what you are capable of…"

"Let me show you out," Dean growled from the bathroom door connecting to Castiel's room. "You heard Cas, he said that you were weirding him out and you hadn't been invited. So get out before I call my dad, I'm sure you know how little patience he has with men who prey on boys."

Balthazar straightened up, slowly removing his hand from Castiel's face. He stared at Dean for a moment. "I guess I'm not wanted here then," he said with a smirk. He turned back to Castiel, "Don't worry little brother, I won't tell anyone that you're here with this rude American. When you want to come back to us, all you have to do is call my name and I'll be there."

Dean glared at Balthazar as he started leaving the room, but before he could do anything else Castiel saw a glint of trouble in Balthazar's eye. Castiel got up to get away from him, but Balthazar grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him, hard on the mouth.

Dean jerked Balthazar away from Castiel and punched him, which made Balthazar laugh for a good minute as he held his hands up in surrender. "I just wanted to know," he gasped, laughing too hard to breathe correctly.

"Know what?" Dean asked.

"If you were going to try and protect him like my brothers would," Balthazar said. "You have no idea what you have here, and I'd hate to see other people take advantage of him. He's special."

"You touch him again and you'll find out exactly how special I think he is," Dean said, holding Balthazar down with a fist gripping his collar.

Balthazar laughed a little again, and then he removed himself from Dean's grasp. "That's nice, little boy. I just had to know for sure. Now that I know, I'll be going."

Dean and Castiel were left alone in his room, staring at each other.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel stared at Dean, standing in his bedroom. This was it, he needed to tell Dean what was going on in his head or he might blow up. It was a serious possibility: internal combustion caused by secrets and lust.

Castiel opened his mouth right as Dean said, "Are you okay then?"

"What?" Castiel asked. "Yeah, yes, I'm okay. Are you okay?"

Dean nodded his head. "I'm going to bed then."

Castiel stared in confusion at his empty room. His mouth opened and shut a few more times, but then he pushed off the bed and traipsed across their bathroom, through the door to Dean's room.

Dean was standing in the moonlight in his sleeping pants, not wearing a shirt, and Castiel almost swallowed his tongue. "Dean," he started to say.

"Cas, was there something that you wanted?" Dean asked him, shutting his eyes against the sight of him.

"I need to tell you something," Castiel said, and his heart was beating so fast that he was getting scared.

"Can it wait for tomorrow? I'm kind of beat, what with almost dying and all," Dean said.

"Yeah," Castiel said, "Yeah, it can wait for tomorrow. I'm glad you're not dead," he added.

"Wait," Dean asked, and Castiel stopped. "Look, if I weirded you out today, or if I did anything at all that made you uncomfortable…"

"I wasn't uncomfortable," Castiel said. "I mean, you almost dying was uncomfortable, but nothing else…"

"I know that I must have done something, you almost ran back to the house after you rescued me and then in the bathroom… I couldn't let go of you even though you were naked… look Cas, I'm sorry…"

"Dean, I…" Castiel paused for a moment. Maybe Dean was trying to tell him that he was reading the situation wrong? Maybe those actions in the bathroom and him punching Balthazar were just something that friends did? "I guess I should go to bed," Castiel said, feeling like his heart was breaking, falling to the floor of Dean's bedroom and shattering into a thousand million pieces.

He could accept that as his fate, he realized. He could pussy out and walk through that bathroom door back to his room, but that wasn't what Castiel thought he was about, that wasn't the man he wanted to be. He paused, putting his hand on the frame and lowering his head. "Cas?" Dean asked him.

"Dean," okay, so maybe he couldn't turn and face Dean while he was confessing, but he would say it none the less. "Dean, I almost died, thinking that you were dead. I think that if you had died I would have followed you. Maybe I would exist, but inside of me I would be completely dead. Your dad was telling me things about myself that I have been curious about all my life, but all I could see is that you were in trouble and that no one knew but me. I don't know what it is inside of me that hurts when you hurt, or what makes me want to see you first thing in the morning, or what makes me need to know what you think about every damn thing…"

"Cas," Dean said, and it was such a quiet plea that Castiel had to turn around and face him.

"Tell me what this is," Castiel demanded. "Explain this craving I have for you, tell me how to make it stop."

"You want it to stop?" Dean asked, looking hurt.

"I want it to move," Castiel clarified. "I don't know in which direction, but it's painful and wonderful and beautiful all at the same time, but I can't live with it not moving somehow. I think I'm going to explode all the time, and it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt, and I don't know exactly what it is but I know that it's a reaction to you."

"Cas, do you love me?" Dean asked, biting his lower lip, as if he were trying to figure out what Castiel was saying.

"Is it too soon to say yes?" Castiel asked, finally making eye contact with Dean.

It was good enough for Dean, apparently, because he crossed the room to lean down and kiss Castiel, his mouth brushing against Castiel's and his tongue darting out to caress his lips.

Castiel wasn't going to let Dean take charge, he was the one who said whatever words needed to be said to get them to this point, after all. Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean's short hair and opened his mouth to lick Dean's tongue into his mouth, slid his lips along his lover's, and caressed his face with his fingers and drop butterfly kisses along his jaw line.

Dean's head dropped back, and Castiel moved them over to the bed so that he could continue kissing along Dean's sun kissed skin, leaving trails of little red marks all over his chest to record the passage of his lips and tongue.

Dean was arching into his mouth, moaning with the feel of Castiel's wet tongue on his body, grinding his erection into Castiel's chest. Castiel wanted it all over him, wanted to feel Dean naked beneath him. He tugged at the waistline of Dean's pants, and Dean was more than eager to shed them, pulling Castiel back up to kiss his mouth as soon as he was naked and he pulled his feet up to push at Castiel's pants, wanting him naked, too.

Castiel whimpered at the feel of their skin touching each other. Their bodies moved in a smooth glide that had them both gasping for air, and Dean pushed Castiel back onto his bed so that he could control the rhythm that their bodies moved together in.

That was fine for Castiel, his hands were free to drag his fingerprints all up and down Dean's body. He mapped the muscles on his back, slid down the smooth slope from his shoulders to the tiny patch of hair in the small of his back, cupped his ass and pulled his hips tight into his erection. It was everything he had wanted to do in the wardrobe, and he ran his hands back up so that he could touch everything all over, memorizing the topography of Dean.

Dean kissed his way down Castiel's body, looking up once in a while to make sure that it was still okay. Castiel was too turned on to be able to say a word, his body still moving in the rhythm that Dean had set earlier. Dean's tongue took one long lick up Castiel's shaft, and the sight of his green eyes peaking up at him while he did it turned him on more than he was prepared for.

Castiel couldn't believe it when Dean opened his mouth and slid it over his dick. He wanted to scream with the pleasure, but Dean shoved some of his fingers into Castiel's mouth and he was stuck trying to suck on them. Being inside of Dean's mouth made Castiel want to suck on Dean too, so that Dean knew how good he was making him feel. Castiel pushed Dean off of him so that he could reposition their bodies, and as soon as he was close enough he licked Dean's shaft as Dean was licking his.

It was almost a mindless exercise, based purely on emotion and sensation. Castiel couldn't think as his cock slid between Dean's lips, couldn't focus on the pleasure that he was giving Dean. Their hands still grappled at each other's sides, smoothing up and down each other's chests and backs, over the curves of each other's rears, and Castiel's hips were moving completely without his permission. He hoped he wasn't choking Dean and at the same time he loved the way that Dean's cock was filling his mouth, loved the smell of him and the taste. He cupped Dean's balls and traced circles around the seam up the center, licking the vein of his shaft and then touching the short patch of skin between his balls and his anus.

Dean was coming then, and that by itself had Castiel responding, too. Castiel didn't know what to do with Dean's cum so he simply swallowed it, gagging a little at the taste.

Dean laughed a little, dragging Castiel up into his arms. He kissed him lightly on the lips before he wrapped him up in his arms. "I love you too, Cas," he said.

"I know," Castiel said, closing his eyes. "I'm special."

Dean almost laughed, but he was quickly falling asleep in Castiel's arms. "Very," he agreed.

The short nap in each other's arms only gave them enough energy to wake and explore each other again.

Castiel woke up to feel Dean's hand on his erection in the middle of the night. He couldn't think of the words to describe how wonderful it felt, so he reached over to fit Dean's erection into the palm of his hand. They scooted closer to each other and wrapped their hands around each other's, masturbating together, kissing each other's faces because Castiel was pretty sure that Dean's mouth probably tasted as nasty as his own. Castiel breathed into Dean's ear, and he was rewarded with an inhuman sound in his own. They came again, falling asleep quickly after they did, and this time they didn't wake up until morning.

They could barely keep their hands off of each other as they dressed for school that morning, moving around each other to brush their teeth and take a wet washcloth over each other's bodies, buttoning up each other's shirts and pants as an excuse to drag their hands over each other's bodies. They spent a long time kissing before they broke apart one last time, this time to run some cool water over their faces to reduce the swelling of their lips and soothe the whisker burn that they left on each other's faces.

They walked down the stairs together, whispering nonsense words and using eyes instead of hands. Castiel was probably the happiest he had ever been in his entire life, and Dean wouldn't stop whispering to him even at the breakfast table.

"Boys, I already called your school," Mr. Winchester said. "You need to go today and get your assignments for the rest of the week, because we've got a job."

Dean, Sam, and Raphael gave each other long looks that spoke of patience, excitement, and worry. Their dad hadn't been home in years and he wanted to take them out on a job, and that made them rather irritated and excited all at the same time. Castiel knew that just a week ago he wouldn't have been able to interpret those looks, but his familiarity with them helped.

School was a mixture of taking notes, piling their books up so they would have what they needed at home. Dean dragged Castiel into a closet during lunch, and they had a satisfying bonding time while relieving their urges, making promises to sleep in Castiel's room that night. Castiel was excited because he knew that they weren't going to be doing much sleeping at all and there were so many things that he wanted to do to Dean. It was hard to concentrate on school after that, but his teacher attributed that to nerves because of the job that Mr. Winchester told the principal that he was going to require the boys' help on.

**A/N: I'm going to end the chapter here. It's a lot shorter than what I usually write, and if you're here just for the story than you don't need to read any further. The following is going to be written in academic English instead of the vernacular, which is usually how I write. I apologize in advance for the stiffness of my vocabulary. I'll try to tone it down for ease of consumption. Please forgive my run-on sentences, I have been told that most historians have this grammar-related problem.**

**I mentioned before that I have a few degrees in history, so there's stuff going on here that teenage boys would not be paying attention to that might be necessary to make sense of the story, and would have possibly changed the way that I wrote it from the beginning if I had known that I would need more than Castiel's viewpoint to tell this story. It's impossible to put this information in this narrative, and I don't trust American history teachers to have covered Pre-Cold War/Cold War history in class and as such have no expectation of anyone knowing any of this, and I know for a fact that no teachers cover Kabbalistic/Jewish/Christian mysticism in class; so the following paragraphs are going to give you a quick review of what's going on in those areas. I have also left a list of books that you may read if you are still interested in angels after my mini-history lesson. **

_**Notes about my historical style and source work**_**: When referring to God's name in academic work, I often use the Jewish G-d instead of writing out His full name, mostly because I had a Jewish professor that would insist on burning any papers we had written with G-d's name written out on it so that we wouldn't break some sort of commandment. I'm still a little leery on doing this and I'm not even sure why. Also, some of my information is done by informal research; I used to live outside of a military base and people who are drunk have a tendency to tell me things that they might not should tell me. I'm going to try and keep the things that have been precedented in their narratives with "Don't write any of this until I'm dead" a secret. **

**History Crap:**** During the 1950s, there was still limited cooperation with the American and Russian governments concerning matters dealing with WWII. They greatly mistrusted each other during these times and there were a lot of misunderstandings between the two countries. In 1956, a movement called de-Stalinization began, most noted by the end of forced labor and improved prison conditions in Soviet Russia. Little known to the characters in my story at this time, it was not going to improve much because in 1957 President Eisenhower was about to declare that Iran, Pakistan, and Afghanistan would be defended by America against Russia, which as you may have well guessed if you have turned on the news at any time in the past five years did not turn out well for all involved.**

**It has been rumored that while American scientists in the 1940s and 50s were concerned with nuclear experimentation to the point of obsession (for fun and entertainment, please refer to the American Government funded Manhattan Project), the Russians were experimenting with other technologies, and most applicable to this story, one of them would be human experimentation. There were stories of psychic solidiers, genetically altered or engineered human children, and animal/human hybridization. Most of these stories have been disproven, but as the documentation has been destroyed or altered it is impossible to say that this is a fact. A lot of older science fiction plays with this idea, and some of the newer science fiction gleans its ideas from the older science fiction without knowing the basis for it. **

**Psychic phenomena is a subject that most scientists scoff at. There isn't enough proof to say that it is legit, although numerous experiments have been conducted by multiple government and private scientific agencies. There are strange things that have been recorded with no scientific explanation available, and that might be due to our limited understanding of the human mind or because there are so many of us who have been raised influenced by religion to attribute these phenomena to a higher power, and so accept these things as normal due to ignorance or apathy. **

**This is when religion becomes a scientific explanation in itself. There have been no other books so diligently studied, argued about, dissected, or analyzed, than the three major books of religion: The Bible, the Qu'ran, and the Torah. As is most applicable to the story that I am writing, I have listed some source material that might help anyone curious about this subject.**

1. Dan, Joseph. Ed. The Early Kabbalah. Paulist Press: New York, 1986.

2. Kaplan, Aryeh. Sefer Yetzirah: The Book of Creation. Red Wheel/Weiser LLC. York Beach, ME. 1997

3. Liebes, Yehusa. Studies in the Zohar. State University of New York Press: Albany, 1993.

4. Newman, Louis J. The Talmudic Anthology. Behrman House, Inc. Publishers: New York, 1945.

5. Nigal, Gedalyah. Magic, Mysticism, and Hasidism: The Supernatural in Jewish Thought, Jason Aronson, Inc.: Northvale, 1994.

6. Scholem, Gershom Gerhard. On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism. Schocken Books: New York, 1965.

7. Scholem, Gershom Gerhard. Kabbalah. Keter Publishing House Jerusalem Ltd. Jerusalem, Israel. 1978.

8. The NCSY Bencher. Trans. David Olivestone. Rothman Publication. Gateshead, England. 1993

9. Steinsaltz, Adin. The Thirteen Petalled Rose. Basic Books Inc. USA. 1980.

**One thing that I feel important to point out is that the names of the angels refer to their place in G-d's plan. Any angel with a name ending in the two letters "el" (Castiel, Michael, Gabriel, Raphael) is referred to as a direct reference to G-d, as one of His names is "El." These would be in the higher orders of angels, although Castiel is not referred to as one of the most powerful seven, which should be noted.**

**Angels have limited knowledge and power, and they must study and learn much as man studies and learns. It has been said that a man whose goal is to learn or discover can attract angels more than other men, because angels are curious and they enjoy learning. Also, angels are said to have been made in the image of man, not of G-d, and this is why G-d loves man more than the angels and why man can command the angels (and demons) to do their bidding. Angels are said to be able to teleport and they all have the ability to question G-d, and it is recorded that they have done so repeatedly.**

**Summary:**** The Soviet Union may or may not have been performing experiments on humans in order to create a super soldier (in my story they are). In all written texts concerning angels, angels are able to be commanded by mystics in order to perform miracles or to obey holy men, and they are attracted to men who study in the first place. **

**Once again, I apologize for the brevity of this chapter, but I hope that in lieu of storytelling you now have the tools necessary to better appreciate the direction that this story has taken. I hope that I haven't bored y'all to tears, and that you keep reading despite the fact that I am sure I have just revealed the magnitude of my nerdiness. **


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel stared in shock, knowing for sure that his life as he knew it was over. Nothing would ever matter, nothing would ever be the same. He could feel himself needing to scream and cry and throw a fit, but he couldn't move. For the rest of his life, he would remember this moment, and he would know that it had made him change like nothing else would.

The morning had started like a perfect moment in time: the autumn sun was up and shining through Dean's bedroom window, where Castiel had awoken to stare at the way Dean's skin glowed in the sun light. Dean was wrapped around his body, a feeling of comfort and contentment suffusing Castiel's entire being. He hugged Dean a little before slipping out of bed and heading towards the shower. He had to wash off their combined saliva and semen before they got to work with his father for the day.

Dean joined him in the shower, and between kisses they washed each other, running soapy hands over each other's bodies and slowly washing each other's hair. It felt good, to be allowed to touch each other and to explore each other's textures. Castiel wished that the moment would last forever, but the warm water would not and so they got out to put on their clothing for the day.

Dean's dad was pretty insistent that they not wear their good clothing, so they got downstairs dressed in jeans and plaid shirts. Sam and Raphael had already eaten most of the breakfast food, so Castiel, Dean, Mr. Winchester, and Balthazar were a little hungry afterwards.

Mrs. Winchester kissed her husband and her boys good-bye, and Castiel said, "See you tonight," to his mother. They loaded up in the cars that they were taking and drove out to the bayou.

They had to borrow a neighbor's dinghy, and Balthazar kept asking questions about the Cajuns that he thought they might run into. Mr. Winchester explained that it was highly unlikely they would even see anyone out there, because the places they were going just weren't that populated. Castiel still enjoyed his explanation of Cajuns, who were highly independent and fiercely loyal to each other. Mr. Winchester's mother was a Cajun, and Mrs. Winchester was full-blooded Cajun, so he didn't expect a lot of trouble while they were out there.

They did run into one other dinghy, manned by a blond Cajun who spoke quickly to Mr. Winchester. Castiel still didn't understand the dialect although now his familiarity with it allowed him to pick out different words so the sentences didn't run together as much as they used to. He still had no idea what the man was saying, but he felt proud that he knew approximately how many words he used to explain what he wanted to say. It made Castiel feel more comfortable, knowing the number of words for some reason, and he tried to match up what he did understand with Mr. Winchester's translations. He was still pretty hopeless at it, but he felt confident that in a few months he would be able to understand more.

The air had cooled a bit, but Castiel would still bet that it was above 75 degrees even in November. He enjoyed the way that the slight wind tore at his hair, and he turned around once to see Dean staring at him. He blushed and looked back out at the river, but Balthazar had seen the look and he was smiling at it.

They stopped at a torn up dock that had looked like it had been there for decades, but Dean assured him it was probably pretty new because things didn't always last long in the bayou without constant supervision. They got out and walked to a barn, small and flecking with red paint.

The air smelled weird, not that things didn't have a distinct scent of rot and fish this close to the bayou, but this smelled stranger, darker, like magic. Castiel didn't like the scent and wanted to run, but he felt Balthazar's hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," he whispered. "Your instincts are kicking in."

Castiel nodded, and then he followed everyone else into the barn, although it felt like razorblades were slicing open his back slowly. He hitched and rolled his shoulders to try and make the feeling go away, but it was useless.

Mr. Winchester pointed out an altar filled with symbols that Castiel didn't like being around; inverted crosses, pentagrams, strange angular drawings that poked at his eyes and made his skin crawl. There was a human skull in the center of the altar and red candles with melted wax in copper candle holders. Castiel felt himself whimper, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from making more noise.

"Take him outside," Balthazar instructed Dean, and Dean nodded and took Castiel out.

Castiel was so embarrassed, but he couldn't hide the relief that he felt as they left the barn. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he wiped them away.

"You knew before we even went in there," Dean said, looking at him. "You knew what was going to be in there."

"I'm sorry," Castiel gasped.

"Shhh…" Dean whispered, wrapping Castiel up in his arms. "I'm here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Castiel buried his face in Dean's shoulder, trying to get control of his body. The action distracted his body without a doubt, but he couldn't keep his mind off of that feeling in the barn.

The boys broke apart as they heard the doors opening. Mr. Winchester glared a little at Castiel, "You gonna be okay, boy?"

Balthazar snorted. "He's going to be fine. The Russian government looks for boys like him and immediately puts them in certain positions within the military. It just means he has exceptional instincts. He's the last person I would fight out of your boys, Mr. Winchester."

Mr. Winchester looked like he was reconsidering his assessment of Castiel, and that told Castiel more than anything that Mr. Winchester respected Balthazar's opinion.

They scouted around the area for what seemed like a small forever, and then Mr. Winchester declared that it was time to eat.

Lunch was another Miss Anna special: cold fried chicken, some sort of red beans and rice, French bread, and a couple of bottles of only slightly alcoholic Muscadine wine. The bread had been slathered in butter and cheese, and everything tasted amazing. Castiel knew he wouldn't be able to eat a lot because his stomach was still upset by that barn, but he smuggled things anyway in case Dean got hungry later.

It was late noon before they came across another person. He was tall with brown hair and a red beard, and he wore old cotton clothing.

"Mr. Winchester, didn't know you were back in town," the stranger greeted him.

"Raoul," Mr. Winchester said. "How's your daddy?"

"He's good. Getting' on in years. There a reason you're out on our property?"

"Somethin' been strange about here lately?" Mr. Winchester asked. "I heard some stuff that people think that I need to investigate, so that's what I'm doing."

Castiel saw that Raoul's eyes narrowed slightly before he kept them as wide open as he could. "No sir, y'ain't really got to be out here for nuh'ting. Ain't nuh'ting goin' on 'round here."

Mr. Winchester nodded his head. "We'll be on our way then. Thanks for the help, Raoul. Tell your daddy I said hey."

"I will, Mr. Winchester, don' worry none 'bout that."

They all stayed silent until they made their way back to the boat. "He was lying, dad," Sam couldn't keep it in anymore.

"I know boy, but you can't be on people's property out here like this. Too many places they can hide your body, and then how you going to explain that to your mama?"

Sam nodded his head, and they all got back into the dinghy.

"We might as well get home t'night," Mr. Winchester said, looking at the sky. "It's a full moon, and I don't want you boys to be outside for it."

There was no chance for it though, because it took them longer to get back to the cars than they had planned. Mr. Winchester was on the look out as he made sure the four boys were in the car before he got into his own, and he followed them back to the Winchester House.

Castiel thought that it was weird that none of the lights were on inside the house. He wasn't the only one, and Dean ran into the house while the rest of them stood staring. It took them a few moments, but Castiel didn't even need to go inside before his stomach was churning again.

He heard Dean's hoarse cries when he walked through the entryway, and he followed the sound into the parlor. He couldn't have told anyone where anyone else was at that point, because all he could hear was the sound of the wind rushing through his ears.

He saw them lying on the rose patterned carpet. His mother and Mrs. Winchester's dresses had been ripped open, and Castiel tried to pull his mother's bodice back over her body, to cover up her nakedness. He didn't understand the red stain on the carpet, didn't understand that he was kneeling in her blood. "Mommy," he whispered. "Mommy, wake up…"

There were sounds coming from behind him, shouts and the sound of someone crying. He felt more than saw Raphael leaving the room, screaming for Anna and his father, and then the sickening sound of a man breaking.

"Mommy," Castiel choked. He shook her shoulder, needing her to open her eyes for just a moment. "Mommy you need to open your eyes," he told her, "I'm here now, you can stop pretending."

"Cas," Dean said, coming over to pull him away from his mother, "Cas, come on, you can't keep touching the body…"

"It's okay," Castiel tried to explain to Dean, "It's okay, she's just pretending…"

"Come here, Cas," Dean murmured in his ear. "I need you."

Nothing could have caught his attention other than Dean saying those words, and Castiel looked up into Dean's panicked and tear-streaked face. "Dean, I don't understand…"

"Shhh…" Dean shushed him, and he pulled Castiel up into his arms. "I need you. Don't think. Just come with me to the front porch…"

Castiel looked at his mother one more time, but Dean was dragging him away. He had Sam's hand, too, and he dragged both of them out to the front porch.

Mr. Winchester was there for a moment, and he gave Dean a bottle of whiskey. "Get them to sleep, son," he whispered to Dean, and Dean nodded.

Dean kept sitting shot after shot of whiskey next to Sam and Castiel, and Castiel wasn't sure where they were going because he didn't know if he was drinking them or not, but he was pretty sure that there weren't more than two glasses that Dean kept refilling.

Sam passed out rather quickly, and Raphael came to relieve Dean by pouring alcohol in the glass next to Castiel while Dean dragged his brother's unconscious body up the stairs.

Castiel was not getting drunk. Balthazar came out for a moment, picked up the Jack Daniel's bottle that they were trying to empty, and rolled his eyes. He went up the stairs to his room and came back with a clear bottle that was filled with clear liquid. "You can't get a Russian man drunk on whiskey," he informed the newly returned Dean.

The new alcohol had a stronger bite, but Castiel kept drinking whatever they put in front of him.

"This is Stolichnaya," Balthazar informed him. "You can put the glass away, and I want you to drink straight from this bottle, do you understand?"

Castiel only vaguely recognized that Balthazar was speaking to him in Russian, but he grabbed the bottle and drank out of it.

The police arrived, and after going into the house one of them left in a hurry to empty his stomach next to the magnolia tree in the front yard. Castiel thought that the wide waxy leaves were beautiful, but more than likely should have been shed during this time of the year.

He had to lean his head up against the column of the porch, and at that point Dean started carrying him up the stairs. He didn't even pretend to put Castiel in his room, and instead Castiel was surrounded by the dark browns and pale greens that decorated Dean's room. Dean pulled Castiel's clothing off of him, tucking him into his blankets with a determined look on his face.

"Stay with me," Castiel pled.

"I have to take care of dad, _sha_," Dean said, kissing Castiel's forehead. "If I don't, I don't know what I'll do. You just sleep, okay? I'll tell you everything in the morning, just sleep."

"Dean," Castiel pled, but his eyes were heavy and they were closing.

Dean softly sang him a lullaby, something that Castiel had never heard before. Before too long, darkness claimed him and Dean's voice sang on in his dreams.

Castiel woke up suddenly, the light coming in through the window. Dean was sleeping softly next to him, but that wasn't what had woken him up.

Mr. Winchester stood at the door to Dean's room, staring at the two boys. "Put your clothing on, and be quiet," he whispered. He didn't sound mad, just very, very tired.

Castiel obeyed quickly, and he followed Mr. Winchester out of Dean's room. He was surprised to see his suitcases next to the door.

"Balthazar is going to try and take you back to Russia with him, and the United States government doesn't want that. We're not going to be able to keep you, Castiel, in this house and you need to leave before that man wakes up to find you gone."

Castiel saw that there was another man in a suit next to the door. "Sir, can't I say good-bye to Dean?"

"There isn't enough time. Don't write to Dean, don't try to contact us at all. Those damn Soviets are going to be pissed that you've slipped through their fingers, and they're going to be searching for you. I'm sorry, I know that you and my son care about each other a great deal, but you're young. You both will move on, I'm sure."

Castiel whispered, panicked, "Can't I stay, please?"

Mr. Winchester looked years older than he had the day before. "I'm sorry, son."

Castiel wanted to protest, but there wasn't even enough time for that. He followed the man in the suit out of the Winchester house, the first place he had ever thought of as home, and got into the car with him.

They rode silently to the train station in New Orleans, where the man gave him a ticket. "You'll meet Senator Crowley in DC," the man in the suit told him. "He'll tell you where to go. And here kid, here's some money for some food," the man in the suit said, pulling out his own wallet from his back pocket.

"My mother," Castiel protested, "She's…"

"She died quickly," the man said, but Castiel could see the lie in his eyes. "She's going to be put in the Winchester's Family Plot, so she won't be alone, okay kid?"

Castiel knew that Dean would make sure that would happen, so he wasn't worried about that. He nodded his head numbly, and he got onto the train and one of the workers helped to put his suitcases in the rack above his seat, and he stared out the window as until they left the state of Louisiana.

He was never going to see his mother again. She was gone.

He was never going to see his Dean again. He was never going to kiss his lips, touch his hair, bury himself in his skin, take comfort in his arms. It was never going to happen. His life was over, had ended after that one perfect night, had crashed and burned. Castiel could begin to feel his entire body numbing over, and he realized he was hungover.

He stuck his hand in his pockets, finding the food that Miss Anna had made that he had hidden for Dean. He pulled out the bread, wrapped in a napkin, where he had put the cold fried chicken and red beans and rice in between the two slices. He stared in wonder when he saw that there were specks of water falling on the food, and he realized that he was crying.

The other people in his compartment stared at him, uncomfortable at the boy crying over a smashed sandwich. Some of them moved out, but Castiel didn't care. They had no idea what he was going through.

**A/N: I promise that I will write a sequel, but the title was about to become inappropriate, and there's a lot of boring transition stuff that Castiel is going to go through. I'm really not a sadist! **


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